Several Miles from the Sun
by Remus's Nymph
Summary: A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. Complete summary in first chapter.
1. Breaking and Entering

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's Notes:** Well, this should prove interesting. A thousand thank yous to Harriet Vane. A thousand more to Candy McFierson. Also, a pounce and a hug to my Ronnie, who proves to be the best fangirl.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER ONE: BREAKING AND ENTERING**

The summer night was stifling, creating a sort of air that suffocated. It was pitch dark, a bit past midnight, and all the houses on both sides of Number 12, Grimmauld Place hinted their owners were safe and sound in their beds. The street lamps had been magicked out, but no one was awake any more to find it worrying. Even the prowling cats had decided to take the night off, preferring to visit the fish and chips shop around the corner. If anyone had decided to stay awake to listen to the news they would have spotted three figures running across the street, stopping at the front of the house that had suddenly appeared a few months ago, even though everyone felt as though it had been there for centuries. Despite the fact that all the other houses were quite lovely, Number 12 had an eerie vibe to it, much like a haunted house. So much in fact, anytime someone decided to walk by it, they had a sudden impulse to turn around and go back to their beds.

Hermione watched nervously as Harry threw the door open, putting away the penknife Sirius has brought him a few Christmases ago. "Are you ready?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Always behind you, mate," Ron assured him.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Hermione said. "I lied to my parents."

"Well, I didn't force you," snapped Harry. He stepped into the house quietly. None of them wanted to deal with Mrs Black's wrath.

Hermione didn't really know how all of this had happened. They were on the train home from Hogwarts and Harry was already laying out plans. He wanted to go back to Sirius's old house—his house now, she supposed—and look around. Perhaps something left over from the Blacks might help him in the battle against Voldemort. Hermione and Ron both knew he was looking for dark magic. Ron, however, had immediately agreed to join Harry, and Hermione found that she couldn't leave them alone.

"The Order will be watching you all the time," she pointed out. "You won't be able to sneak away from the Dursleys' without them knowing it."

"I have the cloak," Harry said shrugging. "I'll just walk a few streets down and call for the Knight Bus. Besides, when has their security been anything but dodgy?"

Hermione wasn't quite so sure that trying to trick the Order was the best thing to do.

"I'll get the twins to help me out," said Ron, thoughtfully. "Tell mum I'm staying over at their flat."

So Hermione had lied to her parents. She and Harry would stay with the Weasleys while Harry got over Dumbledore's death, she had told them. Hermione's parents wouldn't say no, but they would like to see her before Hogwarts started again—if it started again. Hermione promised she probably wouldn't stay the entire week.

Now the guilt churned inside of her.

"_Lumos_!" Ron said, using his wand to guide the way.

"Must be nice being overage," Harry said grumpily. "You could even Apparate here."

"Just a few more weeks until your birthday, Harry," muttered Hermione. "Could we turn on the lights or something?"

"I don't want Mrs Black to notice we're here," Harry said. "Let's just get into the kitchen first."

They made their way into the kitchen, trying hard not to make the slightest noise. Hermione felt her skin prickle. She had a horrible feeling about this. The entire house instilled a sense of dread, and just being reminded that they no longer had Sirius or Dumbledore on their side made the feeling worse.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, once they had found themselves away from Mrs Black. "Kreacher!"

"What are you calling him for?" Ron asked.

There was a loud whip-like snap and Kreacher appeared, his eyelids drooping. There was a cleaning brush in one of his hands. "Master called?" he sneered. "Ah, Master brings the Mudblood and Muggle-loving—"

"Shut up, Kreacher!" Harry ordered. Kreacher glared but obeyed; his eyes looked about to fall out of his skull. "I need you to turn on the lights on the upper floors. In no way are you to alert Mrs Black we are here, do you understand?"

"Whatever Master says," he agreed, picking at the skin of the back of his hand.

"Oh, and the minute you're finished you're to come right back to me. Er… I don't want you walking around," Harry said sharply.

It frightened Hermione to see how easily he managed to order people around. "Please," she added politely.

Kreacher glared at her and left, muttering something about Mudbloods and dancing trolls.

"I honestly don't know why you bother, Hermione," Ron said. "He's a wretched creature."

"He's only been mistreated. If we were nice to him a bit, I'm sure he'd change his ways," Hermione insisted.

Harry and Ron just laughed.

"I don't know what you expect to find, Harry," Hermione continued as they went up the stairs. "Sirius got rid of almost everything, didn't he?"

"He left some of the books in the library. Perhaps you could take a look at them," Harry said.

"Oh, well, yes, of course." Hermione would not pretend she had not been interested in them from the beginning.

"I'll go take a look around the attic again," Ron offered. "Wands at the ready, lads! And… er, ladies. No offence, Hermione."

Hermione tutted, but smiled at him anyway. Their relationship had grown a bit strained since the end of Hogwarts, mostly because Ron had been appalled to see that, after her parents, Hermione had immediately sent a letter to Viktor to tell him of Dumbledore's death.

"Why would he bloody care?" Ron demanded, snatching the letter to read it.

Hermione snatched it back, scowling. "He admired Dumbledore! I'm sure Viktor would be heartbroken to hear that Dumbledore died."

"So he can come and comfort you?" Ron said.

They didn't talk for a while after that.

Hermione went into the library, holding her breath as though it were being unveiled to her for the very first time. Sirius had only removed a few books—one had taken a bite out of Tonks's hand and another had picked a fight with Buckbeak—but the others had all remained intact.

Hermione scanned through the titles, not quite sure what Harry expected her to find. She doubted any of the titles would be 101 Ways to Kill Voldemort, but perhaps some of them would have powerful information that could help the Order. She knew that the only way to finally get rid of Voldemort was to destroy the horcruxes. Two were already destroyed—the ring and the diary—and they could only hope that R.A.B., whoever that person was Hermione had yet to find out, had managed to destroy the third horcrux in time. Then there was the case of the two missing items, about which they didn't have the slightest clue. It puzzled Hermione greatly, but she was good at puzzles.

"Tearing about my Mistress's house, what would she say! Muggle-loving cret—"

"Shut up, Kreacher!" Harry growled from the hallway. He entered the library, Kreacher following angrily.

"Any luck?" Hermione asked.

"Only in the sense that there aren't any Pixie infestations this time. However, Ron found something behind that giant tapestry Sirius showed us the last time. We're having a bit of a rough time unsticking it, but I think if you and Ron have a go at it, I can slip my hand under it," Harry explained.

Hermione followed him upstairs, where Ron was angrily blasting Sirius's family tree with his wand. However, the tapestry merely mocked him and remained unsinged.

"Are you sure there's something behind there?" Hermione asked, peering at the tapestry. She couldn't see any division between it and the wall.

"I'm positive," Ron said. "I was using a wind spell to push away the dust, and it flapped a bit. I think there's some paper stuck on the wall behind it."

"We might as well try," Harry said. "Kreacher reckons the tapestry is falling apart because Sirius's dead."

"It was my mistake to mutter, but Master is tricky," Kreacher grumbled to himself. Harry rolled his eyes.

"It is possible," Hermione mused. The attic was much cleaner than the last time they had come, except for a thick layer of dust. "I've heard of spells that only hold as long as the line of succession does. I guess making you the legal heir doesn't count."

"I tried another wind spell, but it won't budge. I figure we tug and let Harry slip his hand underneath it when it flaps," Ron said.

Hermione grabbed one of the corners while Ron grabbed another. On Harry's count they began to pull. The tapestry did not so much as move. They tried again and again until the tapestry seemed to shiver.

"Try again," urged Harry.

Ron and Hermione exchanged stubborn looks and pulled. The tapestry decided to fight back. It flapped its lower part, pushing Ron and Hermione across the room. However, Harry's Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he reached behind the tapestry, pulling out a roll of old parchment.

"Nice job!" said Ron, rubbing the back of his head.

Harry read it carefully as Hermione peered over his shoulder. "It looks like a spell," she said. "Except… odd, spells don't tend to be that lengthy any more."

"What does it say?" Ron asked.

Harry read it out loud,

_Stolen from amongst the crowd_

_Tortured in the place of shroud_

_Bring back what you took from me_

_A man who swore to never flee_

_Too early to be out of time_

_Surely must have been his prime_

_Gone in such a failed attack_

_Resurrect the great last Black_

"A resurrection spell!" Ron exclaimed. "Last Black, eh?"

"To bring back Sirius?" There was a dangerous gleam in Harry's eye.

"No," Hermione said firmly, noticing their looks, "absolutely not. There is no such thing as bringing anyone back to life, and this certainly isn't it. It's not even a real spell!"

"How do you know?" Harry shot back.

"It's a rhyme. Since when have we heard a spell that rhymes? It's too long," Hermione argued.

"There are ingredients at the end of this, it must be a spell!" Harry said, looking much too happy. "Last Black. That must mean we can bring Sirius!"

"You can't bring back the dead, Harry. It says so in every—"

"Oh shut up, Hermione," Ron said harshly. "I think we should try it."

"You do, do you?" snapped Hermione.

"If it works, then we can modify it to bring back Dumbledore," Ron said, looking pleased with himself. "Right, Harry?"

"You can't bring them back!" Hermione screeched. "In no book does it—Wait, where are you going?"

Ron and Harry had left her to argue by herself. They made their way to Sirius's old room, Kreacher following behind, looking just as happy as Harry did.

Sirius's room had been left untouched since his death. There were a few rat carcases decomposing, and his bed was unmade.

"Kreacher, go find me these ingredients," Harry said, tearing off the last part of the parchment and handing it to the house-elf. "I don't care how you do it, just make sure no one knows you have."

Kreacher didn't even try to fit in an insult and merely left.

"Harry, please," Hermione said, trying to catch her breath. "You can't do this now! We should notify Lupin. He'll… he'll want to, er, be here."

"We'll just have to surprise him," Harry muttered.

"Ron!" Hermione pleaded.

"Perhaps we should get Lupin," Ron conceded. "Hermione does have a point. We don't know exactly what we're dealing with. It could be a trap… Wouldn't trust Kreacher."

"No, no, this is genuine, I'm sure of it," Harry said. "Look, if you want to go tell Lupin, go ahead. I'm going to try this out now."

"Oh, Harry, please—" Hermione was cut off as Kreacher returned, dumping the few ingredients on the bed.

"For Master," he snarled.

"Good job, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Complimenting Kreacher, when he is below—"

"Don't push it," Harry warned. He turned to look at Ron and Hermione. "Are you with me? Think about it, Hermione. If we can bring him back…"

It was raining outside now; the entire scenery looked miserable. The weather channel had said it would, but it all seemed so trivial now. Hermione scratched her arm nervously. Ron had immediately agree, ignoring the fact they would be going against the law, not just school rules this time.

"All right," she finally said. "I promised I would follow you, and I will. What do we have to do?"

"Set these up in a circle," Harry instructed. "Ron, grab those dried leaves and stack them up in the middle. Then sprinkle a bit of phoenix's blood on top. Where did you get all of this so quickly, Kreacher? Oh, never mind, I don't want to know."

Hermione was only vaguely aware that her senses were prickling; the room seemed electric, as it usually did after a magical storm. But the thing is, they hadn't really done anything yet, so what was going on? It was like… like the house was preparing itself. Like it was _ready_.

"Where's Kreacher?" she asked nervously.

"Under the bed," Ron said. Harry had begun to mutter the words.

Under the bed? Hermione took a quick look and saw that, indeed, Kreacher was sheltering himself under the mattress, with a sinister look on his droopy face. That couldn't be good.

Hermione suddenly felt the urge to run as the lights went off. They shouldn't have. Magic wasn't for show, unless wrongfully done. If this spell—and it couldn't be a proper spell—actually worked, everything would be done quietly. Unless they were doing something wrong. Unless someone _wanted_ them to do something wrong.

_Kreacher_.

The Laws of Magic, chapter five, paragraph ten, read, as Hermione recalled: "it is impossible by theory to bring a person back to life. Keiko Anderk, German witch, exploded when attempting to bring back her husband. Any attempts are completely banned by the Ministry and perpetrators will be immediately sent to Azkaban on trial."

It was _said_ to be impossible, but when put to practice it was an entirely different matter. And to get something by practice right, you only had to do it over and over and over—until you either blew up or were successful.

A stench was beginning to waft through the room. It smelled like rotten eggs and troll stench all mixed into one cloud, which, coincidentally, was starting to form above their heads. It was horrible; black and menacing.

"This isn't good," Hermione whimpered. "Harry, I think you should stop."

"I think Hermione's right, Harry," said Ron from his corner. Pale, tired, not like his usual teasing self. It made Hermione even more nervous.

The cloud continued to grow in size, swirling like a small tornado.

Interesting. And deadly. And—

They were thrown off their feet by some sort of invisible barrier.

Harry kept chanting, anyway. Only a few words left and they would have created… a monster.

"Harry, please," Hermione begged. Last words.

"Harry, let's—" Ron immediately became quiet as a form began to appear on the bed. It was, Hermione had to admit later on, beautiful, like an artist sketching a character, filling in the base lines and then adding in what could have been flesh and bones. The colour and the texture, all there, coming out of air.

The artwork was done. It was complete and sitting there and looking much too smug to be—

"That's not Sirius," Ron pointed out just in case they had missed it.

It wasn't. He looked slightly like Sirius, but everything was off. The hair was curly and trimmed underneath his ears, he definitely had more weight than Sirius, and his face… not even Sirius on a bad day could look like that.

"I don't understand," Harry whispered.

Hermione started to cry, but it was Kreacher who made the fascinating introductions.

"Master! Master!" he screamed, hugging the man's left leg. "Oh Master Regulus is back to free Kreacher from the Mudblood-loving—"

"Oh shit," said Ron.

Oh shit was right.

**Final Notes 2:** The spell/poem was written by Ron, and I take no credit for it. Not even a little.  
In the upcoming chapters: Mrs Weasley has a fit, Kreacher shows where his true loyalites lie, and there's a house named Chadwick.


	2. The Last Black

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (02)

**Summary: **A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** Ahem, so, about Regulus's physical looks. I don't think he's anywhere near as handsome as Sirius was (as JK told as over and over), but I think he has his charm. Not ugly, definitely not ugly. Thank you to my beta and... er gamma? Many more chapters to come.

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER TWO: THE LAST BLACK**

For a moment no one spoke. The only sound was Kreacher's happy weeping. The smell of rotten eggs faded, taking the black cloud with it. Regulus sat on the bed, his back stiff and his entire posture looking tensed, like a predator in an unknown surrounding. He looked young, perhaps in his early twenties, like he had barely lived. He was confused, though, that much was evident. He was only peripherally aware of where he was, why he was there, perhaps even how, but he definitely had no idea who they were.

All of a sudden Harry had his wand out and Ron took it as a clue to follow suit. Hermione crouched against the wall, trying to go unnoticed, drawing out her own wand as well.

Regulus Black, the Death Eater. Too much of a coward to follow through on Voldemort's orders. Sirius's description of him had registered in her mind. The problem was that Regulus didn't look frightened… or even relieved. He looked cocky.

And he, too, had his wand prepared.

"I haven't the slightest idea of who you young ones are, but I must thank you for bringing me back," Regulus said. He didn't stand--possibly wasn't sure he could.

"_You_ weren't supposed to come back," Harry growled. "That spell was meant for someone else."

"Someone else?" Regulus asked, looking amused. "My dear boy, that spell is only meant for one, the last Black."

"Oh," Hermione said. She suddenly understood. They had assumed the last Black meant… Oh. "You knew!" she turned on Kreacher. "You knew we had the wrong idea!"

Kreacher gave a wicked smile—on him, it was diabolical. "Kreacher know," he admitted. "Kreacher had instructions from real master. Kreacher followed instructions!"

"Yes, you are a good house-elf, Kreacher," Regulus assured him.

It was disgusting to see how the elf's pasty green colour took on a reddish tinge.

"I don't understand," Ron said. His wand arm was trembling slightly.

"We—we thought the last Black meant the last _living_ Black," Hermione explained. "But it wasn't! He… I don't know how, but he made the spell refer to the last Black of the line. Because neither he nor Sirius had any children, he is the last true Black in terms of genealogy. But it's not possible!"

Regulus gave her an approving look of sorts. "Intelligent witch," he complimented. "But what is all of this about last living Black?" His eyebrows suddenly rose in understanding and he gave a low chuckle. "Well, well, Sirius got his, didn't he?"

Harry lunged. Ron made a wild grab for his jumper and missed.

"_Crucio_!" said Regulus with ease.

"No!" Hermione cried. "_Stupefy_!" She wasn't quite sure who she was aiming for.

Harry managed to hit Regulus without even cringe. Hermione blinked. Ron rubbed his eyes.

"What the—?" Regulus stared at his wand. He shoved Harry off him. "_Crucio_! _Crucio_!" Nothing. Harry wrestled him to the floor.

"Harry, get off him!" Hermione pleaded. "Ron!"

Ron pulled Harry off. "Relax, Harry. Obviously something's faulty with the man, and it isn't just his brains."

Hermione looked at Regulus, who was glaring at the three of them. "Your magic isn't working," she stated.

"Thank you," Regulus growled. "I don't think I'd noticed."

"Somehow the spell must have stripped you of your powers," Hermione said pensively. "Or you just left your spells behind…wherever it is you where in the first place."

"You do notice we have a bigger problem than whether or not _he_ can hex us to death, right?" Ron asked, still holding Harry in place. "The Order are going to have a fit when we explain this to them."

Regulus got up to his feet, lacking a certain confident elegance that Sirius had once had. "Who are you?" he asked. He looked at Harry, eyeing his scar with a certain curiosity.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, sounding like she meant it, "but until we can get Remus or someone else this really is for the best. _Stupefy_!"

Regulus fell back to the floor like a log.

--

There had been a slight hitch in their plans to communicate with Remus. It was mostly based on the fact that they didn't know where Remus was, much less how to contact him, but also the fact that they would have a lot of explaining to do over probably a lot more yelling.

Ron's father, for example, was doing quite a lot of yelling.

His mother wasn't really helping.

"YOU WENT WHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?"

"OF ALL THE STUPID, IDIOTIC, UNBELIEVABLE—"

"A TWENTY-FOUR HOUR WATCH, HARRY! AND YOU SHOW YOUR APPRECIATION BY—"

"LIED TO YOUR OWN MOTHER! AT THE TWINS', YOU TOLD ME! DO THEY KNOW ABOUT THIS? BECAUSE IF THEY DO I WILL—"

"I really am sorry," Harry tried to apologise. "But we have a bigger pro—"

"IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT! HERMIONE, I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU!"

"We really are sorry, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said, feeling incredibly guilty. "But Harry's right, we do need to—"

"YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING THIS HOUSE AGAIN, RONALD! IF I HAVE TO TIE YOU TO THE SHE—"

"REPAYING DUMBLEDORE THIS WAY, HARRY! I HONESTLY WOULD HAVE THOUGHT—"

"What's all the screaming about?" It was Ginny, rubbing her eyes sleepily, dressed in an old green nightgown.

Hermione saw Harry blush and look at his shoes.

"Go back to bed, Ginny," Arthur Weasley ordered.

Ginny looked slightly hesitant at returning to her room, but upon seeing the way her mother was practically snorting fire, she shrugged and left.

"Dad, something happened," Ron said quickly. "We—we, you see—"

So they explained. Harry talked about the spell, Hermione told them her theories, Ron added the part about Kreacher being a rotten elf that should shove Mrs. Black's portrait in a part his mother didn't agree with. And they talked about Regulus.

Mrs Weasley had gone pale. She kept clutching the end of the table so tightly Hermione thought her fingers were going to snap off. Mr Weasley looked like a trout—his mouth simply refused to stay either shut or closed.

"This is serious business," he finally said, wiping his brow. "This has never happened before. If the Ministry finds out about this… Oh, what have you three done?"

Hermione felt herself flush as she stared at the china teapot. Mr Weasley was getting up, waking Bill, sending messages to the members of the Order. Mrs Weasley was—

Cleaning. Without her wand, and mumbling something about killing the twins, because it didn't really matter that they were in Diagon Alley all this time, it still was their fault.

"You three stay here," Mr Weasley said, pulling on his coat while Bill finished his cup of coffee. "I don't even want you to move from that table. We're going to go fetch Regulus. I'll have a good word with you later."

Ron yawned, Harry scratched his scar, and Hermione sank into her chair.

But none of them dared to head for bed.

--

It was past four in the morning when the Order returned with Regulus in tow. None of them spoke when they entered the Burrow, all eyeing the three sitting at the table with a series of looks, none of them pleasant. The last to come in was Remus, trailing behind Regulus, staring at the back of his head with a dark gleam in his eyes.

Hermione knew what it was. It was the same look Harry had. Why Regulus and not Sirius?

"Our situation has suddenly become very grim," Arthur said. "They have gone beyond the laws of magic and nature and brought back someone who was dead."

"I'm standing right here," Regulus said indignantly.

Arthur ignored him. "What you don't understand," he continued, staring at the trio, "is that these sort of black spells require even trade. Look at Voldemort and the state he's in. Even Dumbledore had to give in order to get. You've committed a serious crime and you've jeopardised your lives. It was irresponsible. You're lucky that he had been stripped of his powers, or you could have been killed."

"Still here," muttered Regulus.

"What are we to do now?" Arthur asked.

"Return him?" Ron said.

"Ron! He's not… not some sort of item we bought. That would be murder," Hermione said aghast.

"He was dead in the first place!" Ron argued.

"Hermione has a point, Ron," Remus said, speaking for the first time. "He's still a human, whether we want him to be or not."

"We can't let him out of our sight. He might go back to Voldemort," Tonks pointed out. "If anybody at all finds out he's alive, we're done for. Imagine what Voldemort would do if he knew there was a spell that could bring back any dead person."

"Not just any," Regulus cut in, "me."

"Spells can be modified," Bill said.

Regulus merely shrugged.

"Can't we bind him to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Risky. Hogwarts has already been infiltrated once. Not to mention that without Dumbledore it's no longer safe," Professor McGonagall said. She looked older now.

"What about Grimmauld, then?" said Ron. "It's Harry's, innit? No one can enter without his permission if we set up all the spells Dumbledore used."

There was a silence and Hermione noticed that Remus was staring at Regulus in deep thought. She failed to follow what he was thinking, and instead focused on Harry, who was trembling, not from cold or sleep but from fury, either berating himself for their stupidity or wishing he could curse Regulus for ever existing, or even possibly both.

Regulus, too, was a source Hermione found truly fascinating. Sirius's brief explanation of a younger brother could never have prepared them for him. If he was a follower, stupid and cowardly, then how could he have managed to construct such a powerful spell as one that could bring a man back from the dead? It was equally stupid, Hermione supposed, to say that he couldn't have, because the magical world was a marvellous thing, and even though they shouldn't have, there was really no limit to the laws of nature and magic. After all, Nicholas Flamel had constructed immortality, Voldemort had defied death and Severus Snape had managed to trick the greatest wizard of the past century.

"Hermione, Ron, I think you two should go up to bed," Remus finally said.

"What, and leave Harry alone?" Ron looked insulted at the mere suggestion. "We're all to blame for this."

"Go to bed immediately!" Mrs Weasley screeched, her face turning the colour of a tomato.

Ron and Hermione didn't dare disobey. Sneaking Harry looks of pity and comfort, they both left the small kitchen, dragging their feet in hopes of picking up conversation before they reached the stairs.

"Do you think we'll be thrown in Azkaban?" Ron asked before Hermione headed into Ginny's room.

"Don't be silly, they wouldn't do that," Hermione chided.

"What do you think they'll do to Harry?" Ron was trying desperately to stay awake, but his whole body indicated he was ready to collapse.

"I honestly don't know," admitted Hermione, and she went into the room before Ron could ask anything else.

--

**Final notes:** In the upcoming chapters, that blasted house named Chadwick, an Unbreakable Oath, Dobby and Regulus/Hermione. Yes, dears, this will end up Regulus/Hermione... eventually, soon, no, really.


	3. The Deal

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (03)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** This chapter took a bit of time in uploading over at FictionAlley because my betas died a violent death to… well, school, so I had to find another beta. To quote my author notes on the other side, "However, this chapter is finally up, with a big thank you to blueberri2003, who stepped up to beta."

**Rating: **PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER THREE: THE DEAL**

Regulus really wished he had a wand. Not even a wand, in fact; he would have been quite content with having that spontaneous wandless magic children seemed to lose by the time they reached Hogwarts. Any magic, really. Because at this point, he desperately wanted to blow something (or someone) up.

A man proud of his heritage and abilities, it pained Regulus, _grieved_ him in fact, to be humiliated in front of ….these Muggle-loving vermin.

And losing his house to _Potter_ of all people. That had been a low blow.

"If we're going to keep him in Number 12," the werewolf had said, pretending that he was actually thinking about it, when it was already clear to everyone that it was Plan A without a Plan B, "then we need to make sure that by coming back, he hasn't overthrown Harry's legal right to it."

"How do we do that?" Tonks asked. Regulus couldn't help but notice the lack of her mother's traditional beauty and grace. Her bright pink hair frightened him. Surely it was improper for a lady to wear such violent colours.

"Kreacher," Potter said, finally speaking up and looking like he had just swallowed a toad. "If Kreacher still follows my orders, then this matter is closed."

Regulus was slightly pleased to see that nobody enjoyed the brat's bossy tone, and yet also disappointed that nobody told him to stuff it either. The ambience in the kitchen was a mixture of both bitterness and anger, and nobody dared to look at one other, except for the young man.

"Go on, then," said Harry, glaring at Regulus.

"Pardon?" Regulus was embarrassed to find that he hadn't been following the conversation.

"Call Kreacher," Remus prompted.

Regulus, with all the confidence in the world, yelled for his house-elf. When nothing happened, he yelled again.

"Well, it looks like we, at least, have some good news," Arthur said, wiping his brow. "Harry, your turn."

"Kreacher!" shouted Harry with a certain confidence.

The familiar whip-like snap echoed throughout the small kitchen and Kreacher appeared, sporting a most unbecoming sickly green hue.

"This is insulting," Regulus muttered, but nobody else seemed to agree with him.

Tonks fumbled with the tea pot and shattered it. She fixed it, and then shattered it again, before Remus took it away from her and gave her a packet of sugar to calm her nerves.

"Master! Master!" Kreacher cried, looking at Regulus in distress.

"Kreacher, stay," Harry ordered.

Regulus scowled as his house-elf stood frozen, whimpering and trying his best to move. "This is despicable!" Regulus said angrily. "You are no Black! I am the true heir to the most noble and ancient house of—"

"Oh, shut up," Remus snapped. "You have no magic left, you have no house…you're dependent on Harry now."

Regulus felt his pride shatter into a million pieces.

-!-

It was past noon when Hermione woke up. Ginny was still asleep, slightly snoring next to her. The curtains had been drawn open already and the sun shone onto the bed, giving Hermione a baked feeling. Dressing quickly, she hurried down to the kitchen, aware that the events of the night before had not been cleared and she, like Harry and Ron, was still in deep trouble.

The only people in the kitchen were Remus and Tonks, the latter sporting long, lime green coloured hair and a strange, upturned nose for a change. They had been talking in hushed tones and immediately silenced upon Hermione's entrance.

"Morning," she said, wondering whether to be embarrassed or nervous, or both.

"Would you like some tea? Molly is taking a bit of a rest." Tonks got up and poured her a cup. "No sugar?"

Hermione gratefully accepted the hot drink and a plate of scrambled eggs. "Are we…are we in a lot of trouble?" she finally asked when silence decided to reign over the table.

Remus sighed. He was such a lovely man, and Hermione hated to see him so upset. His hair had become completely grey in only a matter of weeks, his clothes looked too big for his thinning figure, and even though there was a slight twinkle in his eyes when Tonks was in the room, a sense of dread loomed in them.

"We suspected that Harry would try something last year," he said earnestly. "Of course, we didn't think he'd actually accomplish…anything." He stared at Hermione and smiled slightly. "You three manage to get into so much trouble."

"What about Regulus? What is going to happen to him now?" Hermione continued, feeling that the waters were calm now.

"We've decided to keep him in Grimmauld until things clear up a bit," Tonks answered. "Rotten mess, the entire thing really. Mad-Eye wanted to send him to Sri Lanka. I suppose it's a good idea, considering the fact that Regulus no longer has magic in his veins."

Ron and Harry chose that moment to appear, both looking as frightened as Hermione had felt when she had woken up. Ron had not bothered to change out of his pyjamas and Harry had thrown on an old jumper of George's over his jeans. They both looked a mess.

"We'll have to take you back to the Dursleys, Harry," Remus said, in a tone that left no room for argument. "Help yourself to some breakfast, and then I'll accompany you."

"But you'll be coming to fetch me after my birthday, won't you?" Harry demanded. "Because Dumbledore said that after that I'd no long—"

"Don't worry, Harry. We have a big birthday surprise for you!" Tonks promised him, sounding happy for the first time since last night.

"Do we really?" Ron asked, earning a nudge from Hermione.

Tonks rolled her eyes.

-!-

Regulus was content to find that his old room had not been tampered with. Even though most of his possessions had been taken away, his wardrobe had been left untouched. He pulled out a pair of tan trousers and a blue jumper with fancy black buttons that his mother had bought for him once upon a time. He shook off the feelings of nostalgia.

He had been escorted to Grimmauld by two men he did not know, although by the looks of it, they had both been Aurors. He had then been left to himself as he wasn't a threat (unfortunately). Stripped of his magic, he had no way to get out, much less anywhere else to go.

But Regulus was proud. Proud of the fact that his spell had worked. He had been a little nervous about that. The minute the Aurors had gone, he hurried to Sirius' bedroom, praying that Potter had been confused enough to leave behind the guilty parchment.

_He had_.

Stripping a slice of the paper, he rolled it into a tiny vial which had been tied around his neck. Then he set the rest to fire, destroying it the old-fashioned way. Nobody would ever find out his secret.

At a quarter past five, when Regulus had been wondering whether or not to notify his mother's portrait of his presence, Remus Lupin arrived, bringing with him Molly, Tonks, Ron and Hermione.

"Where's Potter?" Regulus asked, noticing the missing link.

Only Hermione spared him a brief glance, but she immediately looked away.

"Ron, be careful with that box," Molly was ordering. "No, Tonks, I don't need your help, but I do need you to start opening the curtains."

"Have I suddenly gone invisible?" Regulus demanded. "Hello, can you see me?"

"We'll have to start by getting rid of the furniture," Molly continued.

"Get rid of the ….are you insane, woman? You most certainly will not—" Regulus was cut off as Molly left the room, pointedly ignoring him.

"This isn't your house anymore." It was Hermione who spoke, looking at him determinedly. Well, at least she pretended to; he could see the way her bottom lip trembled slightly. "It's Harry's now."

Regulus clenched his fists. He was not about to let some little Mudblood get the better of him.

"Hermione, go help Molly move the furniture," Remus said firmly. "Regulus, I would like a word with you."

"I will not be bossed around!" Regulus snapped.

"No, and that is why we will need to come to an agreement," Remus conceded. "This is Harry's house now, you will have to accept that. I know you were killed Regulus, and I know that you're not stupid enough to go back to Voldemort."

"Surely you don't think I'm going to become one of the good little boys, do you werewolf?" Regulus said.

"No, and without your magic, you're no use to us as one anyway." Regulus flinched slightly. "I'm here to offer you protection." Remus ignored his scoff. "Be realistic Regulus, you have no one left. For a small price, I am willing to let you keep your room with free reign of the house, a house-elf to help you around for a bit, as well as my own oath that we will not send you back to where you came from the old-fashioned way, as Ron so kindly put it."

_Well_, supposed Regulus, _when you put it that way…._

"What's this small price you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"One, you show me how to get rid of your mother's portrait," Remus said. Looking at Regulus' face, he added, "We can move it to the upper floors, but we don't want it in the hallway."

"Understandable. She was never one for entertaining guests," Regulus conceded. "What else?"

There was a sound of a crash from the adjacent room and an "Oh, it was ugly anyway!" from Mrs. Weasley.

"The second is that that you have to agree to an Unbreakable Vow with Harry."

Regulus laughed, when he saw that Remus was in fact, not joking, he became dead serious. "No."

"The vow would be stating that you will not be directly responsible for any harm that is to come to Harry," Remus explained.

"No," said Regulus with an edge of finality. "I am not making a death vow to someone I don't know. I wouldn't even make one of those vows to someone I did know."

"We need to be able to trust you, Regulus," Remus said.

"By putting my life on the line, you expect to gain _my_ trust?" Regulus stood up abruptly, causing the chair to tumble to the ground. "I refuse. My life for a house-elf and a room over my head? Ha!"

"You will be thrown out of the house," Remus warned.

"I don't care."

"You won't have anywhere to go."

"I don't care."

"Malfoy is in Azkaban."

"Malfoy can bite my—"

"Do you really want to die a second time to You-Know-Who?"

"He, especially, can shove a Niffler up—" But Remus could easily see past Regulus's false bravado at the statement.

"Are you willing to spend the last days of your life among Muggles, Regulus?" He asked. "Knowing that if it isn't a Death Eater that finishes you, it will be the Ministry locking you up in Azkaban? And that won't be as lenient as we are towards your…unusual circumstances."

Regulus frowned. He really did not want to die again. Not to mention, if he did lay low a bit, he could accomplish a few things he had wanted to do the first time round. And Voldemort…well, that was most certainly not a person he wanted to come up against.

"Fine," he snapped. "I'll tie myself to your Wonder Boy."

Remus grinned, but it wasn't exactly a sign of happiness. "I'll let you know when the time is right," he said, and left the room.

"Sirius was right, he is a coward," Remus muttered to Tonks as he passed her in the hallway.

-!-

**Final notes:** First of all, I'm going to assume that the Unbreakable Vow can be done to someone who doesn't have the capacity to do magic, as long as the person performing it is.  
Second, in the following chapters, Harry turns of legal age, Regulus gets a surprise, Horcruxes, Ron holds an important position and Percy.


	4. Chadwick

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (04)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** So this chapter came up a little faster than expected. Thanks to blueberri2003, once again, for the betaing job and all-around squees. The next chapter should be up in a week or two. School is a killer.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER FOUR: CHADWICK**

The next time Regulus and Harry met was behind closed doors, and Hermione and Ron were not told about the Unbreakable Vow. It pained Hermione that she couldn't find any reasonable excuse as to why Harry, Regulus and Professor McGonagall of all people had enclosed themselves in a room. And even though the twins tried to use their Extendable Ears, Remus found them and gave them a good telling off—which was unusual for Remus to do in the first place.

The event passed quickly, Hermione found, and soon enough it was Harry's birthday. The Order had worked hard for his present—a better surprise they could not find—but Hermione was worried that Harry would not find it in the best sense. After all, as she muttered to Tonks, the road to hell was, indeed, paved with good intentions.

They had completely remodelled Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Once Mad Eye, Remus and Kingsley had completely rid the house of every single malady, Mrs Weasley stepped in to give it a better, more cheerful look.

And she had succeeded.

Mrs. Weasley had carefully divided up everyone into appropriate groups to tackle each room. They had all worked hard to rid the house of anything that would remind Harry of the horrible Black line—Sirius aside—that had once lived there. It was his house now, and because of his upcoming birthday, it was important he had somewhere proper to live. Somewhere safe.

"Happy birthday!" Ron and Hermione yelled when Harry appeared, looking completely surprised.

"We named it Chadwick!" Ron said.

Ginny gave an indignant cough.

"Ginny came up with the name, actually," supplied Hermione, smiling.

Harry's eyes widened. Remus gave him a soft push into the house, where the brightly lit hallway had been cleared of house-elf heads and, not to mention—

"What happened to Mrs Black?" Harry asked, astounded.

Hermione grinned.

Regulus, sulking behind them, made a noncommittal grunt. "She was moved. She's not happy about it, so I suggest you stay clear of the attic for a bit," he said, and slithered off.

"It's very… bright," said Harry, looking around. Hermione was glad to see he looked happy.

"The windows let in a lot of sun," Mrs. Weasley explained. "And we placed an extra spell so no one can actually look in. Hermione gave us the idea. It's common among Muggles looking for privacy," she said.

Sirius's bedroom had been slightly changed as well to suit Harry's needs. The rat carcasses, for one, had been moved. The bed was large, much larger than any Harry had ever slept in, and he was surprised to find a small gold plaque in the library (Hermione, of course, had put herself in charge of it and had it remodelled to look like the Room of Requirement during the days of the DA), that read:

_Sirius Black_

_The Star That Will Forever Shine_

"We didn't want it to seem like we wanted you to forget him," Remus said softly.

"Regulus threw a bit of a fuss over that," Ron added with a small grin.

"Thanks, it's great," Harry said breathless. "I mean… really. Thanks."

"Is that a tear we see?" Fred teased.

"Aw, ikkle Harry is getting a bit sentimental in his old age," said George.

Mrs. Weasley made sounds of disapproval at the twins. "Clearing out some of the rooms, there's quite a bit of space," she continued, moving Harry along. "Five guestrooms! Imagine that! Six, but… we had to make space for Regulus."

"I don't see why," Ron interrupted.

"You don't need to," his mother snapped.

"You'll be staying over, won't you?" Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione beamed. "Of course! Ron and I are spending the entire week." They came to a stop in front of a large wooden door. Gold letters were written across it.

"Dumbledore's Room," Harry read. He opened the door.

It was a very large room with a round table and large, wooden chairs. It looked a bit like Dumbledore's office had, comfortable and with a faint smell of cigar and peppermint.

"For the Order sessions," Remus said. "Assuming, of course, you'll allow us to use Chadwick for the meetings."

"Of course!" Harry said automatically. "This house really is big."

"We wanted to save this room for last," Hermione explained. "Most of the bedrooms are upstairs with the exception of Regulus', which is next to the library and out of your way."

"Yeah," muttered Harry. "Well, then, let me treat everyone to some celebratory tea."

"Tea?" Ron said. "We've got the good stuff!"

--

Hermione woke up early that Saturday to send a letter to her parents. They were expecting to see her on Tuesday, and she was anxious to see them, as well. She lived in the constant fear that Death Eaters would attack her family, and scanning the Daily Prophet was only a little bit of reassurance she could receive.

Hedwig had been quite happy to stretch her wings, and after a bit of burnt toast she set off, giving an agreeable hoot. Hermione took a seat at the kitchen table, noticing how it wasn't very different from the kitchen in the Burrow, and helped herself to some cold ham that had been left over from last night.

The only other person there was Regulus, who was hunched over the morning's issue of the Prophet, pointedly ignoring her "good morning".

Nobody seemed to find him of any threat anymore, which only seemed to re-kindle his fury after the house-elf that had been assigned to him.

"Oh, Dobby is so happy to see Hermione Granger!" Dobby said, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. "Dobby has many of Hermione Granger's hats!" Indeed he was wearing about a dozen of the knitted hats, stacked up on his head that they gave the faint illusion of the leaning tower of Pisa.

"Good morning, Dobby," said Hermione, cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Dobby is fine!" He had been carrying a heavy-looking book with him, and he carefully placed it next to Regulus. "Dobby brought the book Mr Regulus asked for."

Regulus glared at the house-elf, and took the book; discarding his newspaper aside.

Dobby had been the house-elf Remus had given him, something that caused great amusement amongst them all. Dobby, Professor McGonagall had explained to Regulus, was a free house-elf and was only serving him as a favour.

"Oh, go throw yourself off a cliff!" Regulus had yelled at Dobby one afternoon in anger.

Dobby looked thoughtful about it. "Dobby wouldn't like that, sir," he said, still sounding polite. "So Dobby won't be doing it, but may Dobby bring you a cup of tea or coffee?"

Regulus has stood there, unbelieving, his jaw practically touching the floor. It had been a good day for Harry.

"Thank you Dobby," Hermione said, when Regulus offered none for the book.

"Can Dobby offer Miss Hermione anything?" the house-elf asked. His eyes were twitching as if he were possessed, and Hermione knew it was because he was slightly wary of Kreacher, who had been told he was in no way to obey orders from Regulus and was incredibly grumpy over the entire thing.

"Yes, I want you to deliver this letter," Regulus said, passing a small envelope to Dobby. "Please try to keep it private."

"You aren't allowed to send letters," Hermione said immediately, and felt like a six-year-old telling someone off. "Someone from the Order must see them first."

"This letter was already approved by Lupin, thank you," Regulus sneered. Dobby carefully took the envelope, and Hermione saw there was no address, but a simple 'Confidential. Signed, R.B.,' in a cramped, not-so-elegant handwriting.

R.B., thought Hermione as she finished her breakfast and the faint sound of people coming down the stairs brought upon Harry's arrival, R.B. would obviously mean Regulus Black, but why did it seem so important?

"Is that the letter for Gringotts?" Harry asked after Dobby had disappeared.

"Yes," Regulus said.

Hermione found that he and Harry had some sort of understanding. If of course, by understanding it meant that Harry began all the conversations with questions or demands and Regulus answered in monotones.

"You could have sent it with Bill. He works for Gringotts," Harry continued. "Hermione, pass me the sugar, please."

She complied while Regulus muttered something about having more trust in Dobby.

Harry, Hermione found, had truly matured in a man now, not so much physically as psychologically. Tonks said it was because he had finally come to accept what was, unfortunately, expected of him, and he was willing to fulfil Dumbledore's shoes.

It pained everyone to know that.

"What's that book?" Harry asked, eyeing the volume Regulus was reading.

Regulus scowled. "Just some modern history, _Mother_."

"I think it's good that Regulus is catching up with… er," Hermione faltered as Harry directed a dark stare at her.

"Do you?" he demanded.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, yes." She noticed that Regulus was looking at her, possibly for the first time, too. "Even though he is in a way disabled, he is still trying to know what has happened since his death. It's very…"

"Yes?" insisted Harry.

Ron had woken up during Hermione's comments, and he was standing in the doorway, leaning in a way that indicated he was just as pleased as Harry was.

"Very…"

"Please don't stop," Ron said.

Even Regulus seemed to be waiting for her to finish. His pale brown eyes met hers.

"Admirable," she finished sheepishly.

Regulus rewarded her with a wicked grin.

"_Admirable_?" Ron echoed. "Because instead of killing us, he's reading up on what his old master had been doing in the past decade or so?"

Hermione bit her lip and stared at her empty plate. She wasn't going to fight over something like this. Ron scoffed and left. Harry followed shortly after, giving Hermione an uneasy smile.

"You think I'm admirable, do you?" Regulus asked after a strangling silence.

"No, I think your mechanism of coping is admirable," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "But then, I suppose you expected to be brought back at some point, so you might not have a lot to cope with."

"I didn't," said Regulus.

"Sorry?"

"I didn't expect to be brought back," he said and left before Hermione could ask him why.

--

The following day Regulus was interrupted from his reading by a soft knocking on his door. Hermione came in, not waiting for his permission, knowing that he would never give it. His room was kept clean, whether of his own accord or Dobby's she didn't know. Regulus looked up at her suspiciously, and she noticed a broken wand lying on the floor. She briefly wondered what it would be like if she had been stripped of her magic.

"I, er, brought you something," she said.

"I can see that," Regulus responded, eyeing the newspaper. "But I already received today's issue."

"No, it's not," Hermione faltered, feeling herself blush. "I thought—I thought Dumbledore would do this, but since he's not here." She handed him the newspaper; three of them, actually.

Regulus looked at them carefully. On the front page of one was a gigantic photo of a thin-looking man with unruly long hair in Azkaban robes. He looked, he looked an awfully lot like—

"Sirius?" he asked, staring in slight surprise at Hermione.

"I know you're trying to understand what has happened since you died, so I thought you might like to know what your brother went through. The first issue is the same year you died, when Harry's parents died as well. There's a good article on it, of course, and a bit on Sirius. The second one, that's the one you're looking at, is when he escaped from Azkaban. It's not a complete story, but I thought it was better than nothing. And the third… the third is when he died and was cleared by the Ministry."

Regulus stared at the newspapers. He really didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he settled for.

Hermione beamed.

"You can leave now," Regulus added when she didn't move.

"I was wondering if you'd tell me how you accomplished the spell," she said, looking nervous. "I've never heard of anything similar."

"Sometimes words are just a fancy disguise, Miss. Granger," Regulus said evasively. "I overheard that you're one of the brightest witches Hogwarts has ever seen. I don't doubt you'll figure it out."

A puzzle, Hermione thought. He was giving her a puzzle. She liked those.

"Would you like anything, then?" she asked before leaving.

Regulus stared at her, causing her to flinch, but shook his head and resumed reading.

Hermione immediately went to the library, ignoring Ron's petition for a chess match.

-!-

Regulus looked at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the delighted coos it made. His scrawny body was so white—_corpse-white_, he mused—that he looked ghostly pale. On his left breast there was a printed outline that seemed almost carved into his skin, much like Harry's "I will not tell lies" had been. Within the figure the skin was raw, a bright shade of red.

It was a phoenix.

A cruel reminder of his loyalties.

-!-

**Final notes:** So, before everyone asks, I do believe that someone who doesn't have a magical ability can undergo the Unbreakable Vow as long as the person performing it can wave around a wand. I also do think that Harry would be ruthless enough to mark Regulus. They can't afford another traitor, after all.

Also, I chose the name Chadwick for Harry's house because this website explains it as "the fighter's settlement."  
In the next chapters: Regulus/Hermione, House-elf problems, Horcruxes, thieves and the Ministry.


	5. Puzzles

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (05)

**Summary: **A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review. Don't forget to review this chapter! A special thanks to blueberri2003, who fought against evil exams to beta this. Those exams are taking over the world, honest.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Time-setting: **Post-HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER FIVE: PUZZLES**

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at the map that had been set before him. It was a rather large map, mostly based on the United Kingdom, and yet there were certain areas that didn't appear on a normal map. A pin with a castle had been placed on the upper area of Scotland, and a green-coloured one in a remote area of England. A second green pin was in the middle of a city; London, by the looks of it.

"We thought we'd try looking for a pattern," Tonks explained. She and Kingsley were the only other people in the room. "Of course, we don't have a lot to base ourselves on, just You-Know-Who's orphanage and the cave Dumbledore took you to."

"I thought it'd be best if we marked Hogwarts, since you said that You-Know-Who had expressed interest in it," Kingsley added.

Harry took another green-coloured pin from a box and placed it in Little Hangleton. "Is there a pattern?" he asked, eyeing the map.

Tonks gave him a brief smile. "Not yet, but let us work on it," she said.

"I'm going to try and see if I can find information about this Smith woman," said Kingsley, peering at the map. "Maybe I can find living relatives. That bloody cup has to be somewhere. Probably right under our noses."

Harry looked doubtful at the prospect. "Ask around for possessions of Ravenclaw, too," he added. "It won't be something in a store, but probably something stolen or that has gone missing. Smith was a distant heir of Hufflepuff, wasn't she? Surely, Ravenclaw left her line something."

"I can ask a friend at the National Library. If we know who Ravenclaw married, it'd be easier to find some records," Tonks said, looking thoughtful. "I don't remember any stories of her getting married. She was always a bit of a wet towel, wasn't she?"

Kingsley shrugged, scrolling up the map and putting on his cloak. "We'll get back to you, Harry."

Harry nodded tersely, pushing his glasses up his nose again. There was something about that Smith woman that he had missed.

-!-

Regulus had read the newspaper, page by page, picking up everything from Sirius' incarceration, to the Minister of Magic marrying an American music star. It still surprised him that the Mudblood had provided him with something so valuable. And Professor McGonagall had called her the smartest witch in a decade, which was quite a bit of information.

She impressed him, Regulus had to admit as he tucked away his work and stretched, eyeing his mirror. He hated his appearance, he always had. His brother had taken all the good looks from their gene pool, leaving him with skin much too pale, boring brown eyes and a nose that seemed a bit too pointy. His hair was the only thing he appreciated, the way it curled naturally if cut a decent length. He wondered if he'd start aging now. Perhaps age would suit him; some men seemed to look better with the years.

Regulus stepped away from the mirror ("Dear, do you really want to try that maroon shirt?"), and left his room, wondering if there was somewhere he could be without being disturbed. The house was entirely run by the Order, and it seemed impossible to find a peaceful moment outside his room. But if he didn't leave soon, he was going to go mad.

Leave, that's what he wanted to do. He didn't care where he went, but being locked up was getting to him. He hated being under Potter's orders, behaving like the obedient mutt. And that house-elf…. It made him furious.

"Oh, nice to see you up and about." It was Granger, smiling at him nervously.

She was trying very hard to be friends with him, but Regulus couldn't imagine why. He supposed she was worth something, and her looks were not bad, although she definitely lacked the grace and charm Pureblood women had in their veins. Ah, Narcissa Malfoy, that was one beautiful lady.

"It's getting stuffy," Regulus replied.

Hermione followed him. "Yes, I can imagine it must be horrid being cooped up. Have you tried the garden? Mrs Weasley planted some really beautiful flowers. The fresh air might be nice," she said in means of conversation.

"Yes, yes," said Regulus, and waved her away, hurrying into the living room.

Professor McGonagall, who had come to keep an eye on things, was reading a book about some sort of murder on the Nile, looked at him curiously.

"Thank Heavens," he muttered, taking a seat opposite her. "The youth in here is suffocating. I could do a bit with the older peo—er."

"Yes," said McGonagall coldly, "that's me. One foot in the grave, Mr Black."

Regulus cringed. "Sorry, Professor," he muttered. He had always been slightly wary of McGonagall, but who in Slytherin wasn't? She was always yelling at them, handing out detentions and promising them that, if they didn't hand over that poisonous toad _now_, they wouldn't live to see their seventh year.

"You're quite a youth yourself, don't you think?" she continued, closing her book and eyeing him with a slight distaste that was evident.

"I only look so," Regulus said grumpily. "Not too mention that this isn't my idea of a good crowd."

The professor looked like she was biting back a scathing retort. Instead she gave a stiff nod and returned to her book, a signal she did not wish to continue speaking with him, and Regulus took it as an excuse to leave.

It pained him to know that there was no one he could be with within the entire house, excepting Kreacher, who had specific instructions to avoid Regulus. He had tried holding his mother's conversations, but she had been too busy yelling up and down about blood traitors, Mudbloods, convicts and werewolves to realise that her son was back from the dead. And then—

Then there was Granger, who, like an annoying insect, was hovering outside the living room.

"May I help you?" snapped Regulus. He wanted company, someone to talk to, someone who didn't have a completely biased opinion of him. So what, if he wasn't the smartest of the bunch? He had accomplished many things!

"I was wondering if you'd like to ask me anything about Sirius," Hermione said, looking taken back. "I can't promise to answer a lot, but I'll try. I can't imagine how horrible it is to lose a brother."

Regulus refrained from rolling his eyes. A brother? Sirius was anything but a brother. He eyed the girl.

Hrm, she is a pretty thing, he mused, and wondered what the best way to push Potter's buttons was.

-!-

Hermione studied the book in front of her carefully. It was so hard to find information about Horcruxes, and even the darker volumes in the library of Chadwick were of little help. The one she was currently holding held only a page worth of information, most of which was repetitive.

_Horcruxes have long carried the controversy of whether or not they can be considered as homicidal objects. The removal of a part of the soul, while not damaging the body per se, is seen as a violation of the act of God, if not nature itself. _

And so on.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes to take the exhaustion away. She agreed with the book; it was a violation, religion involved or not. To separate one's self like that—especially considering what Voldemort had done it for—was abominable.

_It is important to note that a Horcruxes do not always work. In 1856, Andrew Isaacs used a Horcrux as an anchor to keep part of him on the Earth plane while he travelled Purgatory for research_, she continued reading. _However, as his wife and Isaacs's assistant report, upon sending himself to Purgatory the Horcrux—embedded in the couple's wedding album—blew up. As a consequence, Isaacs was stuck in Purgatory and never seen again_.

Unfortunately she had finished the brief page and there was little _real_ information about Horcruxes. It worried her. There had to be information _somewhere_, otherwise even Voldemort wouldn't have managed to accomplish one, let alone seven. She was looking in the wrong places.

But where was the correct place?

-!-

"Are you really leaving?" Ron groaned, sprawled across Hermione's bed.

Hermione looked up from her packing. "Don't play with that, you'll break it," she scolded teasingly.

Harry, who had been helping Hermione pack by unpacking her things instead, moved away before she could slap him.

"Honestly!" she snapped. "I need to see my parents for a few days. I'll return by the end of the week. Ron, pass me those books, will you?"

Ron obliged, commenting, "Are you taking half the library with you?"

"Don't be silly," said Hermione. "I want to do a bit of research. They're some very good books on the history of the Dark Arts. Some are a bit before Voldemort's times, but perhaps there might be clues to objects he would be interested in."

"Something of Gryffindor's?" Ron asked.

"No, there's only one left, and that's the sword," Harry said.

"Which is kept safely at Hogwarts, isn't it?" Ron said, trying to remember.

Harry nodded. "We need to find out the location of that cup," he continued.

"Is Lupin spending the night?" Hermione asked, deciding to change the sour subject.

"No, he has a meeting underground." Harry's face darkened. It was no secret that Harry had tried to persuade Remus to stop his goings with Greyback, but Remus had said he was closing in on something, and only needed to go for a few more days. "Bill and Fleur will be coming."

"I don't understand why we need the adults," Ron said. "We're all overage, aren't we? And Ginny doesn't spend the nights."

"They want to make sure we don't do anything stupid again," Hermione answered. "And I think I feel safer that they're here, don't you?"

Ron shrugged.

There was a brief knock on the door, and Mrs Weasley's voice caused the door to tremble slightly, "Hermione, dear, when you're ready, Arthur is here to escort you home!"

Hermione called back a quick answer and turned to zip up her bag. She gave a slight groan as she saw her belongings thrown onto the bed, and the cheeky faces of Ron and Harry as they made a quick dash for safety.

It was when Hermione was putting back her books into the bag, Ron and Harry had opted to wait downstairs, she came to a startling realisation that, yes, R.B. was more than just Regulus Black to them. Hurrying to the library, she ignored the pile of books that needed to be re-shelved, and searched for the volumes she had seen a few days ago.

There was a book on the noble and ancient history of the Blacks, updated by magic until the line ended, and that was what she needed in order to solve this puzzle.

R.B. was missing an initial.

-!-

**Final notes:** I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that I chose the name Chadwick for Harry's house because a website explains it as "the fighter's settlement." Appropiate, no?

The small scene between Regulus and Professor McGonagall is a tip of the hat to Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile, where Hercule Poirot makes an observation about his age.

In the next chapter, Regulus/Hermione, Professor Trelawney, Hogwarts, and Horcruxes.


	6. RAB

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (06)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** Life is hectic, chapters take longer to come out, betas are bothered less. Here's chapter six, don't forget to review. Or God will smite you.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER SIX: R.A.B.**

Six people were gathered around the kitchen table in Chadwick, having a hearty lunch provided by Kreacher, who showed that, despite everything, he was a magnificent cook. There was a good turkey that someone, probably Mrs Weasley, had supplied with jacket potatoes and a colourful salad that only Remus and Hermione touched. Cold Butterbeers had also been brought, right from Madam Rosmerta who was still sorry over the events that had happened during the school year, and some wine for those who preferred it.

Despite the good food, however, the mood at the table was quite the opposite – cold and repressing, and despite Ginny's attempts to make conversation, no one wanted to follow. Harry was picking at his food, giving Ginny half-smiles and trying to follow her train of thought. Ron had been given a thump on the nose by Kreacher before lunch (not intentionally, Kreacher had claimed), and was in a horrible mood over it. Remus, the adult whose turn it was to supervise them, tried to enter a few jokes in while the food was served ("What did the pencil say to the sharpener? Get to the point!"), but became quiet as they refused to laugh, mostly because half the table did not know what a pencil sharpener was. Regulus was also in a bit of a strop because Dobby had refused to go buy him potion ingredients ("Harry Potter said you weren't allowed to have any sorts of ingredients! Dobby obey Harry Potter first!"), and had alerted Remus of Regulus' intentions, which had left both wizards in a very sour mood.

Hermione finished her turkey and looked around the table. She had been holding an important piece of information all day, and she had been dying to tell Harry immediately. Would now be the best time? The people around the table were all confidants, and it concerned Regulus so it wouldn't matter that he was here as well. It was a stressing matter; one that had to be clearly thought out properly. She _could_ be wrong, of course. She had no proof, only theories. But she was sure! It made sense, and she had checked beforehand—history books, records, and old files. None of them were fool-proof, but they hadn't hinted towards another lead.

And that was what she had, a lead.

"Your second name is Augustus!" she blurted out suddenly at Regulus.

Ron's bottle had toppled over, and he muttered something about nerves.

"Yes, it is," Regulus said, looking at her in a funny way.

"That's a very pretty name," Ginny piped up, and shrugged when Harry gave her a scathing look.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Remus asked, patting her hand.

Hermione felt herself get flustered. She turned to Harry. "He's Regulus Augustus Black! Oh, Harry, don't you see? R.A.B.!"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and Regulus gave a start, tipping his bottle which collided with Ron's and spilled over again.

"Who," began Remus calmly, "is R.A.B.?"

"I am," Regulus said. "But I've only signed my initials like that twice…."

Harry rose from the table and left the room. Only Ginny returned to her meal, pretending that nothing out of the normal was happening. Harry came back, holding a torn piece of paper. Hermione knew what it said, but Remus read it out loud just the same:

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this_

_But I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret._

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,_

_You will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

Remus's eyebrows rose. "You… you did this? You found out about Voldemort's Horcruxes?" He sounded beyond incredulous.

Regulus looked unsure of what to answer at first, his face a dead giveaway of the conflict within himself, but most of all, and Hermione was surprised to see, he looked nervous. "Yes," he finally answered, but he didn't explain how.

"And you didn't tell us?" Harry said, his voice growing slightly hysterical.

"Well, you weren't born then, were you?" Regulus said, in a tone that sounded a lot like Malfoy's or Zabini's.

"I meant now!" Harry roared.

But Regulus had already found a thread to yank. "So the Order knows about the Horcruxes, do they?" he said, ignoring Harry. "You mustn't have been very good if You-Know-Who is still roaming around."

"We've very go—" Ron closed off as Ginny stamped on his foot.

Remus had gone pale during the spat, and he looked like he was going to be ill. Hermione felt she knew why. While people had been killed, the answer to Voldemort's powers had laid in Regulus—idiotic, stupid, cowardly, no-good, Muggle-hating Regulus, as Sirius had described him.

"Is that—is that why you were killed?" Hermione asked. "At least, we were told that you were killed by Vol—Voldemort."

"I was," Regulus said stiffly.

"Do you know where we can find the other Horcruxes?" Remus asked.

"No." Regulus stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire from this _delightful_ party."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but Remus softly shook his head.

"So—so he knew all along?" Ron said when Regulus' door had slammed shut.

"Does this mean we can trust him?" Ginny also wanted to know.

"No," said both Remus and Harry immediately.

"We don't know if he's really R.A.B.," Remus added. "It seems logical, Hermione, but it may be a lie."

"If he is, then we need to get the truth and see if he really doesn't know where the rest of the Horcruxes are," Harry said.

"Veritaserum?" offered Ginny. "I'm sure Hermione can whip us up a batch. Or Slugdehorn even!" Naturally, Snape was no longer an option.

"Isn't that a bit unethical?" Hermione said.

"It would be for the greater good." Remus scratched his nose, looking thoughtful. "Why don't we give him a bit of time to see if he comes to his senses? I'll try and see if I can find anything else behind his death."

"Perhaps I could have a word with him?" asked Hermione, thoughtfully.

"What for? He doesn't even like your kind," Ron faltered off, looking aghast. "I mean! I'm sorry, Hermione, you know what I meant."

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, I did," she snapped. She stood up, apologised for not cleaning away her plate and left the kitchen. She would have slammed her door, as well, but the library one was too heavy to even move.

"You're such a prat," Ginny muttered to her brother, giving him a swift kick in the shins.

-!-

Regulus knew that somebody would come after him, and it made him feel like a child about to get a scolding for misbehaving. He hadn't thought about the Horcruxes, not really. The thought of going up against Voldemort was petrifying. He had done his part, ensured himself a bit of redemption upon his death, and he had done it out of spite. He hadn't, however, done it for the greater good in the end, and he really didn't care.

There was no knock and Harry came in, unannounced. Regulus was a bit surprised; he had expected Remus.

"How did you find out about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked. He was staring intently at Regulus, but his tone was neither malicious nor angry.

"I did a bit of dirty work and came across my own conclusions. After overhearing something I wasn't meant to, I confirmed my own suspicions," said Regulus, and he left it at that.

"Did you destroy the Horcrux?" Harry said. He was, Regulus noted, trembling slightly, but he didn't know why. How could the hero of the Wizarding world be someone so young?

Regulus' answer was simple. "No."

Harry lurched, looking strained. "_What_? Then where is it?"

"Here, somewhere, I suppose," Regulus answered. "I was going to destroy it, do my good deed, but due to other circumstances, I was cut off. I left it here until I could get back."

Harry shook his head and gave a cold, hysterical laugh. "Nothing's left. They—they threw everything out. If Sirius didn't, then Mrs Weasley did. The necklace could be anywhere."

Regulus kept quiet as Harry paced the room angrily. He couldn't believe that Sirius had thrown out the locket. After all the trouble he had gone to! He had… well, _died_. It was always Sirius, wasn't it? Messing things up because he had the good genes, and the charm and… the friends. Regulus gritted his teeth.

Harry shot one scathing look at Regulus, muttered something under his breath, and marched out of the room. Regulus saw a sliver of someone, Hermione perhaps, go after him.

"Feisty one," his mirror murmured.

Regulus grunted and pretended to go to sleep. Did Voldemort know that he had failed to destroy the Horcrux? No, probably not. The only way Potter could have found the note was if Voldemort hadn't touched the place. Regulus had been so careful in getting it, making sure that he, unlike others, didn't spill the information. He had kept it to himself, his only victory. And now… now Sirius had blotched it.

Just like he always did.

-!-

Harry had called a meeting of the Order. It had been urgent, and everyone had gathered quickly, taking a seat at the round table like Arthur's knights had centuries ago. Harry sat in his chair, flanked by Ron and Hermione on either side, staring at the crumpled note he had kept by mistake, thinking, thinking and thinking.

Remus usually presided over the meetings, even though Harry had been accepted as the leader. This time he presided again, looking weary and jittery, calling order. Slowly, he explained about the events, making sure to turn in every detail, presenting the note as evidence, and then briefly allowing Harry to mutter about his own conversation with Regulus at the end. Mundungus tipped over his glass due to nerves, and Mrs Weasley gave indignant little hisses every so often.

"What do we do, then?" Bill asked. His face looked healthier. The scars were almost gone, but would probably leave behind a trace.

"What happened to all the things we threw out?" Harry asked, looking at Mrs Weasley.

She looked slightly flustered. "Destroyed, mostly," she said. "Sirius said he didn't want them to survive. We can't blame him. I would have down the same. They weren't safe!"

Mundungus let out a sharp intake of breath. "Well… if it's destroyed, then," he said.

Hermione thought carefully, trying to remember. She thought she knew which locket Regulus had meant; it had to be the one that refused to open. The one that Sirius had disregarded without a second thought. Was it truly destroyed? Were they safe to move on to the cup?

"It must be destroyed," Remus agreed. "Nothing was taken." He looked pointedly at the twins.

"We didn't take any locket!" Fred promised quickly.

"Only a doxy or two," added George, earnestly.

"Nothing was taken?" Hermione repeated to herself, mulling over the thought.

"Are you feeling all right, Dung?" Tonks asked the thief, who had overthrown his glass again.

"Yes, yes, just a bit of… er, a rough tummy. Not your cooking, though, Molly!" Mundungus assured her rapidly.

Harry glared at Mundungus, but made no comment. It was no secret that Harry had wished to keep Mundungus in Azkaban.

"Are you sure Regulus didn't know anything about the other Horcruxes?" Mr Weasley asked.

"He could be lying," Harry admitted.

"I say we hex it out of him," Mad Eye said. He looked keen on the idea, too.

Suddenly a variety of comments spurted up on what to do with Regulus, very little of them were good. The small crystal in the middle of the table blurred rapidly. It was in charge of signalling who had the right to speak, and in the outrage, lost track of whether it was Fred or Shacklebolt who suggested that they throw Regulus into a volcano.

"Quiet!" ordered Remus. "Quiet!" A loud bang came from his wand, and the noise immediately died down.

The crystal happily whizzed until "Remus J. Lupin" shone as the speaker.

"Our object is to find the Hufflepuff cup," Remus said. "We'll have to dismiss the locket as destroyed, and hope that is the case. Was there any record in the Ministry of the cup being turned in?"

Shacklebolt and Tonks shook their heads. "No cup of any kind was retrieved in any search since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named left Hogwarts," Tonks assured him. "I think we should have a nice little chat with Borgins."

The crystal turned from "Nymphadora Tonks" to "Alastor Moody".

"We can't do that without alerting the Death Eaters we're on the hunt," he grunted. "And unless we have a valid reason to throw Borgins into Azkaban…."

"What if Voldemort himself has the cup?" Hermione asked.

"No, he seems to hide the Horcruxes," Harry said. "I doubt the cup would be with him. It has to be somewhere safe, somewhere he thinks no one will really look. A place that's tied to his life."

"I've personally checked Albus' collection of Pensieves, and I've found nothing that seems suspicious," McGonagall spoke up. The crystal whizzed happily.

There was a silence for a few seconds, as people thought about what to say next. The crystal hummed in despair.

"Could You-Know-Who have given it to someone?" said Bill. "He gave the Diary to Malfoy, didn't he?"

"And he saw what a mistake that proved to be," Remus answered. "No, I don't think he has any more trust to ensure it to someone. He can't risk those mistakes any more."

Ron was staring intently at the crystal as Mad Eye recalled some old dark sites that had been used during the first war. Hermione tried to catch his eye, but he seemed to have zoned off, which wasn't strange because he usually didn't talk during meetings.

"Kreacher," Ron said suddenly, interrupting Remus, who in turn had interrupted Mad- Eye. The crystal gave an exhausted sigh. "Wasn't Kreacher hiding away things that Sirius wanted to destroy?"

Everyone looked at him confusedly. He flushed, not used to the attention of the Order. "I mean," he continued, "maybe we should check that Kreacher didn't make off with the locket."

"That sounds quite silly," Mundungus said. "If the house-elf had it, wouldn't we know by now?"

"It doesn't sound so silly," said McGonagall, looking at Ron with something like pride.

"I thought Dumbledore had taken away everything from the house-elf that would rekindle his obsession with the Blacks," Mundungus continued. Someone else agreed with him.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask," Hermione said, smiling at Ron. Ron flushed a deeper shade of scarlet.

Harry called for Kreacher, who took his time in appearing. He sniffled, disgruntled. He looked unhealthier than usual, skinnier and with a certain blue hue over his greenish skin.

"Master called?" he snarled.

Harry looked ready to give him a swift kick, but instead asked him if he had made off with a locket. "And you're not allowed to lie!" he warned.

Kreacher rubbed his hands. Finally he said, "Yes, yes, Kreacher make off with locket before that traitorous son of Mistress could destroy it."

"Well, where is it?" Mad Eye demanded.

Kreacher eyed the crowd cautiously, settling his gaze on Harry. "Kreacher does not have it any more." There was a sigh of surprise throughout the room, and then the house-elf added, "Kreacher doesn't have it any more, because the dirty thief stole it from him, Master."

Mundungus gave a nervous chuckle, as one by one the members of the Order turned to look at him. And then Harry pounced.

-!-

**Final notes:** So Regulus turns out to be R.A.B. But how did he find out about the Horcruxes, how did he die, how did he come back?

In the following chapters all explained plus: Professor Trelawney, the Hanged Man, Hogwarts, Firenze and somebody becomes a deity.


	7. The Third Horcrux

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (07)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** Wow, so this fic seems to be doing very well, esp. over at FFnet. That's good. Don't forget to review!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: THE THIRD HORCRUX**

Mundungus had not been able to dodge in time and was sporting a rather fetching black eye, as Remus and Ron pulled Harry off him. To add to Harry's multiple swearing, five wands were pointed at him—Bill, Mad Eye, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones and Shacklebolt. Mrs Weasley simply looked livid.

"Let me—let me explain!" he pleaded. He knew the picture looked horribly wrong. He knew that he had about three seconds to state his innocent hand in everything, before someone decided to blow him up.

"Yes, for goodness sake, put away your wands!" said Mr Weasley, exasperatedly.

"Now, it's true that I stole the locket," Mundungus assured them, wiping his brow and feeling an ulcer form in his stomach. "However, I really didn't know of its importance."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Remus asked.

"Well, imagine that you've already got a bit of a rotten record with the, er, master of the house—I am truly sorry, Harry—and all of a sudden, you learn that on top of stealing the fancy silverware, you've also taken a bit of _his_ soul!" Mundungus visibly trembled. "I was planning on hurrying back home and then bringing it back… of course, that was before the ruddy house-elf told me off."

Kreacher sneered happily.

"Then, perhaps, we should go fetch this locket?" Mad Eye said. He held his wand limply in his hand.

"I—yes—splendid idea!" Mundungus straightened up, looking satisfied with himself.

"And perhaps you'll keep your hands to yourself," Mrs Weasley suggested furiously.

"Of course, of course!" Mundungus turned to Harry. "I am very sorry, Harry. I truly am!"

Harry glared at him, told Remus he wanted the meeting adjourned, and then left the room without saying another word.

"I think," said Mrs Weasley sharply, "that there will be no lunch until the locket is back and destroyed!"

Everyone gave Mundungus a rather nasty look.

-!-

The locket was not brought back until that night, and Mundungus was half-pardoned for his actions, even though neither Harry nor Mrs Weasley was speaking to him. Regulus was in the library with Hermione, when Mundungus and Mad Eye returned and they were called to the meeting room. Regulus was about to retire to his room once again, but Dobby said Harry specifically wanted him there.

"Is that it?" Harry asked Regulus when the meeting came to order. Regulus did not miss the hopeful silence.

"Yes," he said, feeling a new sense of frustration overtake him. "Congratulations, Potter, you're one step closer. Just six more to go, eh?"

"Well, then, I think we should get rid of this," Remus said, looking happy for the first time. He waved his wand, but nothing happened. "Oh dear."

Mad Eye tried, Mr Weasley tried, Ron stepped on it, and someone—Ginny, Regulus thought—tried to feed it to Crookshanks, who looked furious and hissed.

"Perhaps if we wait to Lupin to become a werewolf and then throw it at him?" offered Fred.

Remus did not look happy with the idea.

"Oh," Regulus said casually, "you won't be able to destroy it like that."

Everyone turned to look at him. "Well, I know it wasn't a very good idea—" Fred admitted.

"No, I mean, you won't be able to use magic," Regulus said. "_He_ made sure of it. That's what took me so long…." He trailed off uncomfortably, and Hermione gave him a reassuring smile.

"So how do we destroy it?" Mad Eye asked gruffly.

"Brute power," Regulus answered. "I'd highly suggest applying the laws of physics, but I'm a bit off when it comes to the Muggle way of viewing things."

"Something like throwing it off the Tower of Pisa, you mean?" Hermione looked incredulous.

Regulus stared pensively at her. "I suppose that might work."

"Excellent, trip to Italy!" George announced.

"_You're_ not going anywhere," Mrs Weasley snapped.

Hermione looked at her hands thoughtfully. Tom Riddle's diary had been destroyed by its own basilisk, which, she supposed, was brute force. She did not know how Dumbledore had destroyed the ring, but there was little doubt he would have come up with something ingenious. Throwing something from an astonishing height was a rather good way of destroying any sort of object, but that couldn't have been what Dumbledore had done.

"Where's Hagrid?" she asked suddenly, an idea coming to mind.

"He's with Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth," Mr Weasley said.

"Have you—Harry, what about Grawp?"

Harry turned to look at her. "What about Grawp?" he asked thickly.

"What if we got him to break the locket?" Hermione felt excited all of a sudden. "He has plenty of strength to spare! And… well, just think!"

"That's not a bad idea," Tonks agreed.

"What's a Grawp?" Regulus asked, observing how everyone seemed to have either paled or flushed.

"Hagrid's half-brother," Remus explained. "He's a full-blooded giant. You know, Hermione, I think that's an excellent idea."

Regulus did not feel so. "You want to entrust the destruction of a dangerous object to some _giant_?" he said.

"He's Hagrid's brother," Hermione said firmly, as if that was the answer to any doubts.

"We'll have a word with Hagrid, then," Harry continued before Regulus could make any further comments. "He'll return to Hogwarts, won't he? Professor McGonagall, could you speak with him? I don't want him going alone, though. I'll go with him. Tell him to stop by tomorrow."

Professor McGonagall nodded tersely. "Remus will accompany you both," she said.

Harry didn't argue. He looked pensive. "We need to find those other Horcruxes quickly. Nagini… going after her will be the hardest," he spoke mostly to himself, and the others had to strain to hear him.

"Logic says Nagini should be our last Horcrux," Kingsley explained. "Get to her and then right on to You-Know-Who. Our priority now is to find those two missing items."

"If Ravenclaw left something, then someone must know," said Mr Weasley. "The problem is whether or not they're still alive to provide us with that information."

"If Voldemort was sneaking about Hogwarts looking for clues, then maybe the portraits or the ghosts know something?" Hermione suggested.

"If they did, Dumbledore would have known immediately," McGonagall said, a bit coldly. "How else do you think we keep such careful tabs on the students?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks with Harry. They were all thinking the same thing. At least a dozen portraits had caught them on suspicious outings and had never told Dumbledore anything. At least not that they knew of.

"There must be one biased portrait in the school," Fred said.

"Biased, perhaps, but they all swore loyalty to the Headmaster!" snapped McGonagall. "Trust me, Mr Weasley, if there was something to know, we would know it."

"People have fooled Dumbledore before, haven't they?" muttered Fred, but only Regulus seemed to have heard him.

The table grew quiet as everyone tried to think hard of their next step. Hermione did not want to abandon her idea of asking the portraits and ghosts, but she remained silent. Regulus was the only one who seemed carefree, picking off some invisible lint from his shoulder.

Finally Remus adjourned the meeting, saying that they would gather in a week to discuss any news. In the mean time, they would destroy the third Horcrux and hope for some light to be shed on the rest.

Extracting herself from the large group, Hermione approached Harry, who was talking animatedly to the twins. Fred, noticing it was her, continued on. "If you want," he said quietly, "we'll visit Hogwarts and interrogate the paintings, Harry. If old Filch is still there, Peeves will cover for us. He owes us."

"Hermione here has a point," added George, briefly looking at Hermione, "someone in there must know something. We'll begin around the Slytherin Dungeons."

"Just make sure you let me know before you leave," Harry said. "Hogwarts isn't safe and I want to make sure you don't suddenly disappear."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Fred chirped, and then hurried off before his mother could demand to know what they were brewing.

-!-

Harry waved goodbye to Ron and Hermione, as they left to their respective houses for the weekend. He was left alone in Chadwick with only Regulus and Remus, the latter who would come around that night. The house seemed lonely and quiet with the small number of people, and Harry sulked off to the attic to find something to do.

Mrs Black's portrait hung in a corner, covered by a large velvet curtain, and Harry was careful not to disturb her. He only paced around, eyeing the furniture that had cluttered up. There was nothing to do, and he was about to leave when he stubbed his toe against a chair. Holding his breath in order to not awake Mrs Black's wrath, he jumped around a bit, rubbing his foot and swearing in his head.

That was when he eyed a small hole in the floor. He wasn't surprised to see it; the house had been infested with rats and numerous other pests through its years of abandonment, but he kneeled down anyway and peered down the hole. It was hard to see anything in the dark, but he saw a glint of light.

Taking out his pocket knife, he carefully pried the floorboard open. A small glass cube was sitting there, coated in dust and something black - Harry didn't want to venture a guess at what it was. Curious, he carefully picked it up. It seemed to vibrate softly under his fingertips.

"Interesting," he murmured, eyeing Mrs Black's curtains, and then turning back to his treasure.

He carefully set it on the floor, blowing away the dust. He had half-expected to find something written on it, but there was nothing but smooth glass all around. He touched it with his right fingers, feeling it vibrate in a harmonious sort of way, almost as if it were calling to him. He rested his palm against the cold glass, and felt a sudden jolt of electricity run across his arm, like he had just been shocked.

Harry tried to remove his hand, but found that he couldn't. His palm had stuck to the glass in a horrifying way. The jolts continued and soon gave way to a sickening sensation. Harry felt his skin burning, the flesh melting away, and a sickening odour filled his nostrils.

"BLOOD TRAITORS! THIEVES! DECEIVERS!" Mrs Black suddenly started shouting, and Harry realised that he had begun to scream.

The pain was unbearable. He tried desperately to pry his arm from the cube, but it seemed only to mock him in return.

"I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL!" Mrs Black screamed nastily, laughing gleefully at the sight.

The smell of burnt skin was making Harry feel faint, and alongside the searing pain, he knew he was going to pass out any time now. He was briefly able to hear the sound of pounding footsteps run up the stairs. He was aware that he was still screaming despite everything, and Mrs Black was swearing at him from her portrait.

"Potter! Potter! For fuck's sake what on earth is—what are you doing, you stupid boy?" It was Regulus. Harry felt relief sink in, but the pain was too intense to say anything.

"Oh, shut up, Mother," Regulus snapped, grabbing a hold of Harry. It felt like he was suddenly bathed in cold water. "Potter, would you stop your incessant screaming? It's all in your bloody head, do you hear me? The pain is all in your head."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. In his head? It was as real as anything!

"Come on, Potter, I need you to concentrate," Regulus urged. "It'll go away only if you think about something else. Think about Quidditch or school, or girls even."

Harry couldn't. He tried to think about Ginny on a broom in Hogwarts, but the pain made the image evaporate into flames. His hand… his hand was on fire.

Regulus was clutching his hand furiously, trying to pry it off the cube, and Harry kept wondering why Regulus wasn't burning as well. All in his head… it was all in his head. It wasn't all bloody in his head!

Regulus was saying something, but Harry couldn't hear.

"… I think I'll pin her against the wall and take her right there. You don't mind, do you? She's a lovely creature. I can't wait to dip my tongue between those—"

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Harry croaked. The pain seemed to lessen slightly.

"And grab those small—Hermione, of course," Regulus chirped.

Harry raised his right fist and swung at Regulus.

"There you go," said Regulus, rubbing his nose. It wasn't broken, thank God.

Harry blinked. The cube lay on the floor, looking devastated. Regulus grinned at him, and even Mrs Black had settled down, eyeing them both with disgust from her side.

"What happened?" Harry asked. His arm was fine. No scorched skin, no leftover pain. It had all vanished.

"I merely distracted you, since, apparently, you are too much of a blockhead to do it yourself," Regulus explained. He dusted off his trousers and offered a hand to help Harry up. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"How did you know about the cube?" Harry asked.

"It's mine, actually. A birthday present when I turned twelve," Regulus said.

"A _birthday present_?" Harry echoed. "What's it doing hidden under the floorboards?"

Regulus shrugged. "Don't know. I bet there are a lot of things hidden in here." He closed the curtains on his mother's portrait with a quick apology. "Leave the cube there. Let's go get you a bit of alcohol. You're looking somewhat peaky."

"Thank you," Harry found himself saying. "I felt like my arm was being burnt off."

Regulus shrugged. "That's nothing. The cube is supposed to make you go insane. Was an excellent present, really. I used it on old Lucius once for a laugh and got slapped for it."

"They couldn't have bought you a pack of cards or a kitten, instead?" demanded Harry, as they marched down into the kitchen.

"Well, I had a kitten once," Regulus said, "but it got eaten by an Acromantula by mistake."

-!-

**Final notes: **The cube in this story is taken from one of the books of the Dune Cronicles. Except the cube over there serves a much better purpose.

In the next chapters! Regulus leaves the house, Lucius Malfoy, Ron plays an important part, Percy and... Raúl?


	8. The Ministry

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (08)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** Apparently somebody doesn't know who Regulus is. Regulus, in his brief mentions in canon, happens to be Sirius's brother, who died about a year before Harry's parents. Regulus was a Slytherin and a Death Eater. Regulus apparently got in too deep and wanted to leave, but, of course, it's never that easy. Sirius claims that Regulus was never important enough to be killed by Voldemort. However, at the end of Half-Blood Prince, the initials R.A.B. from the letter Harry receives with the missing Horcrux possibly indicate Regulus's works (Regulus A. Black). Theories on part of the fandom which are being exploited in this fic. Enjoy!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER EIGHT: THE MINISTRY**

The news of how Regulus had "saved" Harry had reached everybody in the Order, and while most of them were indifferent towards the event, a few had looked upon Regulus in a new light, especially Mrs Weasley.

They had gathered for another large lunch, when she hustled over to him, surprising him by giving him a rather hard poke in the ribs. "You're looking much too thin. Hasn't Dobby been feeding you? Don't tell me you're relying on that Kreacher, are you? Not a reliable house-elf, no matter what family you're from!" she continued, ignoring Regulus's flustered looks.

"If it weren't for you, Harry might be dead now," Mrs Weasley added, almost adoringly.

"He wouldn't be dead," Regulus muttered, grabbing a seat and setting it next to Hermione.

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Regulus knew his tactic of distraction had made the boy slightly aware of his future moves, but ignored it.

"You really cannot live by yourselves," Mrs Weasley said to Harry as she bustled around the kitchen, flicking her wand to pull out pots and pans. "You're probably not eating healthy, and it's not good to be here all this time. You must come to the Burrow next weekend. At least there, you can have a good walk in the fresh air."

The twins bustled in, quickly shoving suspicious-looking items into their many pockets. They were followed by Bill and Fleur. A few minutes after, Remus and Tonks were the last to come in, with a whistling Ginny trailing behind.

"Who's guarding Azkaban these days?" Harry asked Tonks as Ginny sat next to him, staring determinedly at her plate.

"Aurors," Tonks answered. "It's a bit livelier now, what with the Dementors all gone. The Ministry is always trying to send more people there."

Remus looked at Harry curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to have a word with Lucius Malfoy," Harry answered. "Better, I want to have a word with his memories."

Hermione dropped her fork, as Regulus next to her started. "You think Malfoy has information that would be useful? Harry, he didn't even know about the Horcrux he was carrying around," she said.

"Perhaps not then, but when Voldemort punished him, _something _must have slipped." Hermione did not fail to see how Harry carefully glanced at Regulus, before turning back to her. "I'm positive there must be something."

"It's going to be very hard to get into Azkaban," Regulus pointed out. "More so to get Malfoy's memories."

"He certainly won't volunteer them away," Tonks agreed. "And the only way you can legally get into Azkaban is with a signed permission by the Minister—or if you're an Auror, and even then it's a bit tricky."

"I think I know how to get into Azkaban, but I need a way to get the memories," Harry said.

"Extracting them by force is unethical," Hermione piped up.

"But perhaps the best option in this case," said Ron, spearing a potato with emphasis.

Hermione looked as though she was going to answer back, but merely took a drink of water and continued to eat. Remus looked pensive, and Mrs Weasley tried to brighten the meal by changing the subject.

"What about using Felix Felicis?" Ginny finally said. "It worked for us, didn't it?"

"That… could work," Harry agreed.

"But it takes ages to prepare it," Hermione said. "And unless we can find someone who already has a batch made—which I doubt—can you really rely on luck? I mean, at least Professor Slughorn liked you."

"But he didn't even give Dumbledore the memory, Hermione," Ron added, suddenly agreeing with the idea. "I think Harry should try it again."

"You can't go to Azkaban alone, though," Remus said firmly. "And I would like to know just how exactly you expect to get permission. If you plan on breaking in…."

"We have to work fast," interrupted Harry. "Once we get news of Hagrid and Grawp, we need to destroy that Horcrux immediately. Ron, I want you to go in my place."

Ron beamed proudly. However, Hermione felt that these plans had already been discussed between them, and she had been left out.

"And what will you be doing in the mean time?" Mrs Weasley asked suspiciously.

"I will be having a word with the Minister of Magic," said Harry, grinning slyly. "I'll be taking Hermione and, well, after a few good disguise charms, Regulus."

Regulus looked surprised, as did the rest of the table.

"Regulus?" Ginny demanded, while the twins snorted.

"Harry, are you sure that's the best option?" Bill asked.

"Regulus found out about the first Horcrux on his own. I think he might be useful," Harry insisted. "Plus, it'll give him a chance to get out a bit. We know what happened to—" He suddenly became quiet and decided that the food arranged on his plate was extremely interesting. Ginny patted his hand nervously.

"I don't think I like the idea of you being in the Ministry unguarded, either," Remus said. "And since I feel I know where this is going, I don't think you should do it. Promising yourself to the Ministry—"

"He makes it sound like Harry's about to give his virginity away," muttered Fred under his breath.

"—puts you in a compromising position," ended Remus, flushing slightly, but acting as if he hadn't heard Fred.

"Sometimes we have to sacrifice," Harry said coldly.

"We do have contacts in the Ministry," Hermione added softly. "I think we can handle this." She wasn't quite sure what Harry wanted to do, but she was willing to support him all the way. That was what she had promised, wasn't it?

"Why don't we just finish our meal, and then we can discuss this properly," Mrs Weasley said, putting an end to the upcoming comment Remus was about to say.

-!-

Hermione found Harry and Ron in the former's room. Ron had his head buried under the pillow and was muttering something, only stopping when Harry gave a chirpy, "Hi, Hermione!"

"Harry, do you really think the Ministry is going to grant you permission to go to Azkaban?" Hermione asked, sitting next to Ron on the bed. Harry was sprawled on the floor, a book she didn't recognise opened before him.

"I'm just giving them what they want," said Harry. "Equivalent trade, right?"

After bringing back a dead person, Hermione thought, equivalent trade was a rule they were well familiar with.

"Why aren't you asking Regulus for his memories?" Hermione continued. "I mean, after all, we know for a certainty that he has more knowledge on the Horcruxes than Malfoy could."

"We talked about it," Harry said, acknowledging Ron, "and we thought it might be best if we let Regulus volunteer his memories instead of taking them. However, if time runs short…."

Once again, Hermione felt that prickling jealousy of being left out from something important. "Well, I think you shouldn't be wasting your time by mixing around with the Ministry. Instead you should be earning Regulus' trust. Despite everything, he is a valuable ally."

Hermione vaguely noticed that Ron had flushed a violent red colour, but she couldn't tell why. He was glaring viciously at his fingers, and Harry sighed.

"Let's try Malfoy first, Hermione," the seventeen-year-old leader of the Order said. "I'm sure Voldemort must have let something slip when Malfoy was being punished. Nobody's perfect. And, perhaps, a visit to the Ministry will shake Regulus a bit."

"Yes, plus there's always Veritaserum for Regulus," said Ron, as though he were suggesting a hanging, with glee.

"You can't use that on Regulus. It's illegal," Hermione said.

"You mean unethical." Ron sneered slightly.

"No, illegal. Just like it was illegal to use it on Sirius. They're both allergic. Regulus told me," Hermione explained. "And the Ministry clearly states that anybody who is allergic to Veritaserum is exempt from taking it. No exceptions." Seeing the incredulous look on Ron's face, she added, "You can ask Mr Weasley. I checked it with him first. I'm not stupid."

"We didn't say you were," Harry said amiably, but Ron was still pouting.

-!-

The people who worked in the Ministry had seen many things in their lives, but the sight before them left them slightly speechless, as aeroplane memos crashed against their foreheads in desperation.

The Boy-Who-Lived had entered the Ministry grounds, even after the Minister had spent two days blowing things up in anger because of Dumbledore. Harry Potter, dressed - once again much to everybody's surprise - in a presentable business suit; his hair still wild and his glasses firmly placed upon his nose, strode down the hallway, ignoring everybody's gaping mouths, with two people in tow.

The first was someone they knew: Hermione Granger, as her picture appeared in the Daily Prophet. She was dressed, like Harry, in Muggle attire that consisted of a trouser suit in a boring shade of professional black. Her hair was in a tight bun, and she followed Harry with a more nervous gait.

The first two looked like children playing dress up, even though their image was convincing, and whispers had already started among the floors. Tonks, trying to stare at her paperwork instead, couldn't help but shoot Kingsley an amused grin.

The third person was not, as everyone might have assumed, Ronald Weasley, but someone completely unknown to them. He was a tall blond, dressed, for a change, in dark blue robes. He strode with a certain immodest confidence, staring at nothing except the back of Harry's head.

The trio walked past the people, into the lift, closing it before anyone else could join them. No one dared to; they were too busy Floo-ing their friends to tell them the news.

"Well, that was slightly exciting," Hermione said, grinning. "Quite an entrance, Harry."

"Give them something to talk about. We want the details to reach the Minister before we do," Harry said, but he, too, looked surprised at the results.

The blond scratched his hair and then quickly re-tidied it. "Why did I have to be a blond?" he moaned.

"Well, why not?" Harry asked.

Regulus, because it was indeed him, rolled his eyes, but became quiet as the lift opened onto the correct floor.

Waiting for them was a tall, red-haired man, face filled with freckles, and a sense of impatience upon him.

"Percy," Harry acknowledged with a slight bow of the head.

"I didn't know you were bringing a guest, Mr Potter," Percy said coldly, eyeing Regulus suspiciously. "I didn't know you were coming at all."

"Percy, allow me to introduce to you Mr Raúl Blanco, reporter for _La Estrella_," Hermione said smugly.

"Mr Blanco," Percy said, suddenly turning polite at the mention of the press. "I do not believe I've heard of your newspaper. Are you settled in the area?"

Regulus, much to both Harry and Hermione's surprise, managed to pull off a perfect Spanish accent as he said, in slightly broken English, "No, not yet, señor. We have stations in Madrid, por supuesto, as well as Versailles and Milan. We are beginning to expand our paper here in London."

"Excellent place to start," Percy assured him. "The Ministry is waiting. Please follow him."

Hermione gave Regulus a slight grin, as they walked down the hallway towards Scrimgeour's office.

"Minister," said Percy as he opened the door, "Mr Potter, Miss Granger and Mr Blanco to see you."

Scrimgeour looked up from his paperwork, which had hastily been put together in order to provide him with an image of a man who had just been interrupted. "Ah, thank you, Percy. You may leave now. Mr Potter, I must say this is a surprise."

Harry did not wait to be invited to sit down, and immediately took a place across from the Minister. It had been planned like that. Regulus had told Harry exactly how to behave, how to show off his power.

"I never was able to pull it off," Regulus had said miserably. "But my father, he was a master at it."

"Mr Blanco, is it?" Scrimgeour asked, eyeing Regulus. "I'm afraid we have not properly been introduced."

Regulus, who had taken the only other seat next to Harry (Hermione was left standing, but that was how it had been planned), reached over to shake the Minister's hand.

"Mr Blanco for _La Estrella_, Ministro. A pleasure to be here, of course," said Regulus, looking slightly nervous for the first time.

"Now, Harry," said Scrimgeour, "what can I do for you? I thought you were never going to set foot in here."

"I have a …business proposition," and Harry began to explain his need to get into Azkaban, merely saying that he would like a word or two with Malfoy.

Hermione, who was hardly needed, glanced out the large window. It was a bright and sunny day. She listened carefully to Scrimgeour's comments.

"In exchange," Harry continued, "a dazzling article on how the Boy Wonder spent over an hour talking with the Minister of Magic, and both came out looking very pleased with their results—providing, of course, that I am pleased with the results."

Once again it pained Hermione to see how callous Harry had become. He was a business man already; a born leader. She couldn't help but wonder if this change in personality was for the best.

"Ah," said Scrimgeour knowingly at Regulus. "I take it you're to be the fine reporter behind that masterpiece."

"Mr Potter's parents and I go back quite a bit," said Regulus in ironic truth. "It is a favour."

"A favour?" asked Scrimgeour.

"Well," Regulus admitted with a slight business-like tone, "there are benefits, of course. Imagine the first issue of the paper to begin with '_Minister and Potter Talk Tactics'_."

"Indeed, indeed," agreed Scrimgeour, his wide smile giving him the impression of a well-fed lion.

"_Quid pro quo_, as they say?" Harry said.

Hermione bit back a snort. She had given him that line.

The Minister pretended to ponder over the decision. He looked at Harry, then at Regulus, then back at Harry. "Will this leave open a possibility that you will firmly entrust yourself to the Ministry?"

Harry lied, "Yes. If everything should go well, there are good odds."

Scrimgeour stood up, a signal that the conversation was over. "Well, then, Harry, I do believe we have a deal." He shook the boy's hand. "Shall I owl you the permission slip? I don't believe I have your address."

"I'll come fetch it tomorrow personally," Harry said. "Raúl, the article should be ready by the end of the week?"

"Claro, señor," Regulus answered promptly. He gave a short bow to the Minister and followed Hermione out of the office, leaving Harry behind.

"I'm glad you've come to your senses, Harry," Scrimgeour said. "It will help bring a bit of peace of mind to the community."

Harry gave a sharp laugh, and left the Minister to himself.

-!-

"I can't believe we got away with it," Hermione said as they caught the train. They were still dressed in their suits, with the exception of Regulus whose robes had been transfigured by Hermione into a normal pair of slacks and a warm shirt.

"It won't be that easy," Regulus said, still blond. "He'll probably have watch guards all over you when you enter."

"That's what the Felix Felicis is for," Harry answered, feeling incredibly pleased with himself. "Now, about that article?"

"No problem," Hermione assured him. "I've already spoken with Rita Skeeter. She'll write the article herself, pretend she bought it off Mr Raúl Blanco, and have it published in the _Prophet_. Scrimgeour won't care less, and we haven't broken our deal."

"You're brilliant, Hermione," said Harry.

Hermione blushed.

"How does it feel to be out in the world again, Raúl?" Hermione asked, changing the subject.

Regulus grinned. "Things have changed since I was, er, last here in London. But the ambience is the same; that feeling of dread and despair." He suddenly became quiet, and looked interested in the scenery.

Harry and Hermione shrugged. "Hagrid's coming this afternoon," Harry continued, lowering his voice. "Ron's all ready to go. It should be a quick job, right? Nothing… nothing bad will…" He trailed off uncomfortably.

Hermione knew he was remembering about Dumbledore and how Voldemort's ring had weakened him. She gave Harry's arm a reassuring squeeze, and changed the topic to Charlie's upcoming visit.

-!-

Regulus' hair had been changed back to its dark colour. He had locked himself up in his room, while Harry briefed the Order on his small victory with the Ministry. Hermione had gone to have tea with Rita Skeeter, and discuss the privileges she would have over the article. "I'll tell her to go wild," Hermione had said quickly before leaving, accompanied by Bill.

Regulus scratched the Phoenix tattoo; it tended to itch a lot. His mirror made little comments, and he preferred it that way. Being outside for the first time had been so invigorating, even if he had been in disguise as a Spaniard. He wished he could be out more, but Potter would never allow it. And, as the tattoo constantly reminded him, Regulus was supposed to be his little lapdog.

Regulus slipped under the sheets of his bed. He was tired, but not quite sleepy. Hermione had done nothing but praise him on his performance with the Ministry, but she didn't know how exhausting it had been. He was so nervous, frightened even, that he would be found out and sent to some laboratory. Furthermore, he was afraid about what effect the Magical World had on him now.

He felt incredibly incomplete.

-!-

**Final notes:** J.K. made a statement somewhere that Veritaserum wasn't used on Sirius, because it's not very reliable, or something along those lines. Neither are the Muggle lie detectors, but they are used as help, so I preferred to come up with a second explanation for the lack of Veritaserum: allergies. Much like shellfish and nuts, among others, Veritaserum is a powerful potion and a potion allergy inducer. Because it has magical properties, it is much more lethal than natural allergy inducers, which is why it is illegal to use on a person who is allergic. In this case, the Black brothers. However, I suppose, maybe that won't stop Ron.

On the other hand, in the next chapter: Ron gets rid of the locket, Harry goes to visit the Riddle house, Lucius and Hermione gets snogged.


	9. Grawp

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (09)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author Notes:** So, apparently I ate a comma in the past chapter, and my final notes are supposed to read "Lucius, and Hermione gets snogged." Lucius, I'm sorry to say, isn't about to get any affection in this fic.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**CHAPTER NINE: GRAWP**

Ron patiently waited by the gates of Hogwarts. His dark brown robes covered his jeans and green jumper quite nicely against the strong breeze. He leaned against the gate, feeling the locket in his pocket. It had been carefully wrapped in cloth, and Ron felt a certain pride in being the one charged with its care.

Remus, standing beside him and humming, was dressed in similar robes. He shuffled his feet nervously, eyeing the castle of Hogwarts. It no longer seemed to look large and imperious; instead it had taken on a desolate appearance, almost as though it were falling apart, a nice mirroring on the lack of faith its once inhabitants now had on it.

"Hagrid should be arriving any minute now," Ron said conversationally.

And indeed it was only five minutes until they could spot Hagrid crossing the path, unlocking the gate, and giving Ron such a strong pat on the back, his knees wobbled. "Come on in," Hagrid said, heaving the gates open enough for Remus and Ron to pass through. "We'll be takin' a Thestral carriage. Fastes' way ter the mountains, and safes', too."

As they crossed the grounds to Hagrid's hunt, Ron found himself looking at the way the castle loomed over them. There hadn't been any news whether Hogwarts would reopen in September, but somehow Ron doubted it. While Hogwarts had always seemed somewhat intimidating, its deserted look gave them a feeling of lost, and very little parents found it a safe school for their children.

There was a loud bang that sounded in the distant; it seemed to come from within the castle, but Ron found himself glancing at the Forbidden Forest. Peeves' cackle could be heard as well, and even Hagrid stopped to glance at Hogwarts for a mere second, before grunting and telling them to hurry up.

"It's probably just the ghosts," said Remus, noting Ron's suspicious look.

A small black carriage was waiting by Hagrid's hut. Fang ran up to Ron, slobbering all over him, barking happily. There was a harsh snort from the carriage; the Thestrals, which Ron still couldn't see, were patiently waiting to leave.

"Hooked up four to the carriage," Hagrid was telling Remus. Remus looked slightly nervous, and Ron wondered if he could see the horses.

Fang gave a delighted bark and ran around the carriage; after two turns, he became tired and plopped himself at Ron's feet.

"Will it be a long trip?" he asked.

"Not long. The thestrals are fas' fliers," Hagrid assured him. "Righ', then. You and Remus get into the carriage with Fang. I'll sit up fron'."

"Are you sure, Hagrid?" Remus said politely. "It's a bit chilly tonight."

Hagrid grunted. "Someone's gotta lead the Thestrals, and the cold has nothin' agains' me." He opened the door, and Ron peered in. It was the common carriage that generally took them from the Hogsmeade station to the school every year. It looked oddly inviting from the cold and sleet.

Ron hopped in, followed by Remus and then Fang. "Must admit I haven't been in one of these for a long time," Remus said, stretching against the chair. "Hagrid says it's about an hour trip. I don't suppose you'd mind if I…."

"Go ahead," Ron assured him, and Remus leaned against the window, closing his eyes.

Ron scratched Fang's ear, and looked out the window. The moonlight was the only source of illumination, and he watched it grow brighter as the Thestrals took to the sky.

-!-

Harry had curled himself up in one of the chairs, in Chadwick. A chess game had been left open, and he moved a pawn to distract himself. It sourly stuck its tongue out at him. Harry glanced up at the clock; it was only a quarter past ten, hardly anything to worry about. But he was worried. Ron was on a mission alone, and while it was quite simple, Harry couldn't help but think of everything that could go wrong.

Sitting in the sofa across from him was Ginny, reading a novel Hermione had lent her. She had offered to keep him company, and Harry was slightly grateful for it, although he felt it did nothing to help his heart from beating in a nervous pattern.

"Stop staring at me," Ginny said, not unkindly.

Harry quickly turned away, feeling himself blush, and stared determinedly at the clock.

"Ron will be back soon," Ginny assured him, not looking up from her novel. "I'm worried too. I haven't been able to read beyond this stupid page. It _is_ an easy job, right? Grawp's not harmful, is he?"

"He managed the funeral quite well," Harry said.

Ginny was about to respond in a very negative way when Hermione interrupted, coming in, closely followed by Regulus. Harry immediately jumped to his feet, and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

Regulus grinned. "Hello, Potter, Miss Weasley. I suppose we're all up for the same reason?" he said, with a fake edge of niceness in his tone.

Hermione smiled at Harry and Ginny. "Harry, Regulus thinks that there might be a few objects in the house that we all missed in our search. Secret places that were well-protected against even Moody's eye," she explained. "Regulus and I have been talking about it—"

"You have, haven't you?" asked Harry, eyeing Regulus.

Regulus looked at the chess board and moved a black tower, pretending to ignore the conversation.

"Yes, we have," Hermione said firmly, "and we thought it'd be best to get rid of anything that might be lurking. I mean, look what happened to you."

"Fine, we can do it in the morning," Harry agreed, a bit grouchily.

Regulus looked up from the chess board. Ginny had moved a white bishop and he had turned a black horse against it. "Chin up, Potter," he said. "There might be a few things that your godfather left behind."

Harry frowned. "Sirius cleared up the place, he would have picked them up," he said.

"Actually, Regulus was telling me that after Sirius ran away, his mother went a bit… er, into a rage and started throwing Sirius' things out. Regulus saved a few things and hid them," Hermione said.

Harry's eyes turned into frightful slits. "You two have been talking a lot, haven't you?"

"Regulus does know a lot of things that might help us," Hermione said meekly.

Ginny suddenly jumped to her feet. "What about some hot chocolate to help us keep awake until Ron gets here?" she asked. "Harry, why don't you help me? I still don't know where mum put everything in the kitchen."

Harry glared at Regulus, but followed Ginny out of the living room. Hermione immediately turned on Regulus, sharply poking his chest with her finger. "What did you do to Harry?" she demanded. "He's suddenly become very edgy."

Regulus shrugged innocently. "I think it's Ginny. All that sexual tension in the air. Not good on a seventeen-year-old, you know. Much like the tension between us." He gave her a wide grin.

Hermione blinked. "The _what_ between us?" she demanded. "Are you insane? There is not—there was never—" she spluttered off uncomfortably, and tugged at the hem of her shirt.

He was on her in a flash.

Hermione was cornered. Like a rat, at least she was a pretty rat.

Well, prettier than Wormtail could ever wish to be and—

_Incoherent thoughts_. Which meant she was very, very nervous.

Regulus had her practically up against the wall, a predatory gleam in his eye, a smug grin on his face. He looked like a cat about to eat the canary. And Hermione didn't want to be that canary.

"I'll scream for help," she warned. "And it won't be pretty!"

"I'm sure your boyfriend will run to defend his damsel in distress," Regulus said, moving – dangerously! – closer.

"Er, Harry is _not_ my boyfriend," she argued. "Because, well, Ginny!"

"Ronald, then?" Regulus asked. "Must admit your children will turn out lovely!"

"No!" Hermione said hurriedly. "Ron is sweet and nice, but he's not… _you know_, and you're awful! Go. Away!"

Regulus looked thoughtful, placing each hand next to her head, making her feel extremely claustrophobic. "I've heard rumours about a Bulgarian," he continued.

Hermione huffed and slipped from under his arms, putting the table between them. "I think you need a bit of sleep," she said, like a doctor prescribing a remedy. "Obviously you're a bit stressed and it's gone to your head and—what are you doing?"

Regulus was moving around the table, and she hurried to maintain high ground. "Er, Regulus, honestly," she continued nervously. "I'm very flattered, but it wouldn't work out between us. See, it's the whole dead thing, and I've never been much into necro—"

Somehow - she never truly knew how - Regulus had managed to sidestep her around the table, and grabbed a hold of her, pressing his mouth to hers in a very demanding kiss.

It was, as Hermione would secretly tell Ginny later, a very good kiss, but that wasn't the point, at the moment.

Regulus had her pressed against the sofa, and she could feel the arm of the chair imbedded against the back of her knees. But it was all trivial; the kiss was actually a very good one. Not quite like snogging Viktor Krum, but, then again, it never was the same between two very different men.

"Glad to see you're coming around," Regulus whispered, looking pleased with himself.

Hermione knew she was blushing. She cleared her throat. "That wasn't quite fair," she complained, mostly to herself. And then suddenly they had broken apart as Harry and Ginny came back, carrying a tray with mugs.

Ginny eyed Hermione suspiciously and grinned. "I put a bit of ginger in it, to spice things up," she said.

Hermione blushed ever harder. "Thanks, Gin," she squeaked.

Harry watched as Regulus moved a black pawn, and moved the white queen to take his bishop in response. Regulus nodded. "Good play," he muttered.

Harry turned to look back at the clock. It was almost eleven. "Can't take long to finish the job, can it?" he asked.

Hermione looked up from her mug as Regulus sneaked her a satisfactory smile. "Hagrid said the ride was about an hour," she muttered. "They should be back between midnight and one in the morning. Why don't you rest a bit, Harry?"

Harry peered out the window. The street was completely dark except for the streetlamps, and most of the houses had already turned their lights off for the night. "No," he said, "I want to make sure Ron arrives safely."

-!-

It took the Thestrals a little less than an hour to reach the base of the mountain where Grawp was staying. A cold breeze had picked up, and Ron tightened his cloak around him. The cave was hidden by magically grown vines, which gave it a curtain-like look. However, it was impossible to ignore the way as most of the trees in the perimeter were bent and broken.

"I'll wait out here," Remus said. "You two go ahead. I think I'll take a walk."

Ron clutched the locket in his pocket nervously. "_I_ have to go?"

"You are the leader of this mission," Remus said patiently. "Go on. Hagrid won't let anything happen."

Hagrid had already gone ahead and a loud—almost childish—roar could be heard from inside the cave. Ron shuddered. His fingers tightened around the locket, but he did not remove it from its place. Even he could not deny the way it seemed to pulse, like a beating heart in his grip. He straightened his back, took a deep breath, and followed Hagrid inside.

_Gryffindor bravery_, he reminded himself. Fang bounded after him, giving an energetic bark.

The cave was not very big in length, but somehow it seemed to grow in height. There wasn't a single clue that somebody lived there, and Ron wondered if it had been magically concealed. He walked cautiously, even though Fang seemed confident and was leaping about like a rabid bunny that ought to be banging symbols for a living.

When they reached the end, Ron was surprised at what he saw. Shelves had been built into the walls of the caves, holding up an assortment of things that ran from tinned goods to books. Stone chairs and a table were placed in the centre, accompanied by a make-shift bed in one of the corners. Something that looked suspiciously like a stove, gleamed under the candles. It was like a hotel from the Stone Age.

Grawp gave a delighted noise when he spotted Ron, but when he tried to reach for a hug, Hagrid gave him a firm no.

"Hi, Grawp! Great to see you," Ron said, trying to sound like he meant it.

"Won Won," Grawp boomed.

Ron felt himself flush and looked at Hagrid accusingly. The half-giant shrugged. "Sorry, Ron. Told him a bi' about you and Lavender. The nickname seems to 'ave stuck."

"As long as Harry doesn't hear about this," Ron muttered, and he pulled out the locket. He set it on the stone table, carefully unwrapping the clothes that hid it. "Right, Grawp, I need you to break this."

"Pretty," Grawp said.

Hagrid beamed. "He's a fas' learner!" he said proudly.

Ron quickly turned a condescending snort into a series of sneezes. "It's very pretty, Grawp," he said, remembering what Hermione had told him before leaving.

"Be polite," she said. "He's not an animal, plus he's Hagrid's brother. Try to make conversation!"

"But you see, Grawp," Ron continued, looking up at the giant, "it's very dangerous. You know dangerous, right? So I need you to break it, like you did to the trees."

"You're very good at this, Ron," Hagrid said. "You should work with animals."

_Not likely_, thought Ron, but he kept it to himself. "Ready, Grawp?"

Grawp raised a fist and both Ron and Hagrid flew for cover. The giant brought it down upon the locket and stone table, both which went into pieces, flying in all directions.

"Boom!" Grawp said delightfully.

"Boom," Ron agreed, picking out rubble from his hair. "Er, sorry about the table, Hagrid. _Reparo_!" He carefully picked up the gold pieces of the locket, placed them in the cloth and put it back in his pocket. "Harry will want to see it," he said, in mean of explanation.

"Good job, Grawp!" Hagrid complimented his half-brother, patting one of the monstrous arms. "Are you eating properly? You look a bi' on the thin side."

Ron gave a cheery goodbye, left Hagrid to finish feeding Grawp, and went outside to find Remus. He felt happy with himself for having completed the mission without a single hitch. He couldn't wait to get back to Chadwick, and have a nice long sleep.

Remus was sitting on the stump of a tree, playing with Fang, who had retreated before Grawp had done his bit. Remus looked up at Ron and smiled. "Everything go as planned?" he asked.

Ron grinned. "Easy as pie," he boasted.

When he got home later that night—or morning, if you were picky—he was immediately pounced on by Harry and Hermione. Harry took the pieces of the locket, handing them to Remus with instructions to lock them up in Gringotts. Hermione brought Ron a glass of water to drink before he went to bed, and the trio sat alone in the living room going over the visit to Grawp.

Finishing the last of his water, Ron stood up, and then glanced at the chess board, irritated. "Who's been buggering up my chess match?" he demanded.

-!-

**Final notes:** In the upcoming chapters: an interesting Daily Prophet article, Professor Trelawney, Little Hangleton and the search for the next Horcrux. Oh… and something about Regulus dying and living and… you know.


	10. Little Hangleton

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (10)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author notes:** I was going to wait for Fiction Alley to upload the last two chapters of _Several Miles from the Sun_ before I uploaded this one on FFnet, but I know that FA's a bit behind because of the season and all, so I decided to go ahead here.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER TEN: LITTLE HANGLETON**

Regulus plopped down on the chair next to Harry, giving a loud yawn. Hermione set a cup of coffee in front of him, but took the chair next to Ginny instead. Ron, who was leaning against the sink with a dazed look, buttered a slice of bread.

"Has anyone seen the owl that delivers _the Prophet_?" Regulus asked, as Ginny passed him a bowl with fruit salad.

"It arrived early," Harry said. "Woke me up, that idiot thing."

"Did you pick it up, Hermione?" Regulus turned to ask.

Hermione blushed, and without looking at him, shook her head.

"Your _Prophet's_ gone missing?" Ginny said, looking curious. "Maybe you're behind on payment?"

"No, he's not," Harry assured dryly. "I manage to pay all his debts."

There was a loud racket from the front door opening, but no one had the energy to become suspicious and pull out their wands. Fred and George hustled into the kitchen, identical large grins of satisfaction on their faces.

They looked around at the group assembled, and upon spotting Harry, threw themselves at him, bowing towards the ground, kneeling in prayer.

"Oh, great one!" said Fred, pretending to kiss Harry's feet.

"Emperor of the lightning bolt!" George agreed.

"What is up with you two?" Ron demanded.

"Bring us luck!" Fred continued, ignoring his brother, or Harry, who was trying to scramble away.

"Bring us money!"

"Bring us women!"

"And a rabid dog to guard the shop!"

"Well," said Hermione, looking half-amused, "I think it's the _Imperius Curse_. Obviously they've finally become nutters."

"Come on, get up," Harry snapped irritably. "What are you two going on about?"

Fred stood up, dusting off his trousers, and grinned. George took a chair next to Ginny, finishing off the food from her plate.

Harry was handed today's issue of the Prophet ("Is that _mine_?" Regulus demanded), and read out loud the headline,

**HARRY POTTER MADE DEITY**

**Ministry surveys have shown that 45 of the wizarding population has begun praying to Harry Potter for hope and luck during the dark reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Fanatics have even submitted petitions to build a shrine in the name of the Boy-Who-Lived. However, one thing is for certain, everyone wants to see Harry Potter in the streets, not, as one reader of the newspaper said, 'locked up somewhere, plotting.'**

The newspaper continued talking about Harry, but he crumpled it up and tossed it at Fred, who hadn't stopped smiling.

"It's rubbish," Harry said.

"Of course it's rubbish," Hermione agreed. "But it's very… well, don't you see, Harry? Forty-five percent!"

"But it's what Scrimgeour said was going to happen, innit?" Ron asked. "Harry's this symbol for hope against the war. Keep them happy and not… what was it that Lupin said? Not helping."

"We've signed the petition for the shrine," George said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. "They want to build it in Hogsmeade, close to Hogwarts. Fred and I suggested they built it in St Christopher's Avenue."

"Isn't that where the Minister lives?" Hermione asked.

Fred grinned in reply.

"This is ridiculous," Ginny said, straightening the newspaper to take a better look. "They've started a bloody cult."

"Religion is the opium of the masses," Hermione quoted. "What if we could use these people to help? I mean, Lupin is right. It's nonsense if Harry is only giving them comfort, but if they're actually _praying_ to him for help. Maybe he—maybe the _Order_—could find potential allies."

"No religion is safe," Regulus warned. "If you ask me, that forty percent should be off in Azkaban for being idiots."

"Yes, well, if it were up to you, _I'd_ be in Azkaban, as well," Hermione snapped.

"No, I'd rather have you in my private dungeon," said Regulus, sweetly.

Ron stiffened. "Watch your mouth, Black."

"I do," Regulus said, eyeing Hermione pleasantly.

Harry put a warning hand on Ron's arm and shook his head. "I'm going to the Ministry to pick up the permission slip for Azkaban. I'm going alone," he said sternly when Ginny opened her mouth. "I need that _Felix Felicis_ as soon as possible, Hermione."

"Professor McGonagall was going to speak personally with Slughorn about it," she said. "I'll send her an owl and see if she's received a response." She paused, looking uncomfortable. "Harry, what if the potion goes wrong? What if Scrimgeour's smarter than you think? He was head of the Auror Office."

Harry turned to the twins. "You two are taking care of distractions, right?" he asked.

Fred batted away a fly. "No problems there, Harry. Just give us two hours warning before you leave and we'll have you equipped," he promised.

"Anyway, Hermione, Harry's not going alone," Ron said. "I'm going, too!"

"Are you?" Hermione snapped. "Good, I feel assured."

"Actually, you're not going," said Harry. "It'll be better if I go alone."

Ginny, sensing the tension, began to pick up the plates. "Ron, why don't you go take a bath? Fred, George, don't you have to be back at work?" she said.

The twins glanced at their watches, shook their heads, and leaned against their chairs with pleasant grins.

"The Order meeting is at four," Harry said. "Regulus, I'd like you to be there. Ginny, let's not have this argument again."

Ginny closed her mouth, glared at Harry, and then furiously began to scrub a plate.

"While we're on the note of distractions," added George, pouring himself a generous amount of orange juice into his glass, "that little… er, thing you wanted us to check out? Done."

"Good," Harry said. "What do you have for me?"

"An abandoned centaur and a devastated Seer," George answered.

"What?" said Ron while Regulus had mused, "Is this the beginning of a joke?"

Fred and George looked around the table suspiciously before the latter continued, "Firenze and Trelawney are still stuck up there. Hagrid knows, of course, but he tries not to bring attention to them. Something about Dumbledore's protection."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, looking worried. "The Prophecy! You can't leave Trelawney alone. What if Voldemort finds out?"

Harry rubbed his temples, predicting what was about to happen.

"Firenze is probably fine by himself," Hermione continued. "I mean, he only has to fear his old herd, and they certainly won't leave the Forest, but as for Professor…."

"All right, all right," Harry snapped. "I can see where this is going. I wouldn't think that you of all people, Hermione—Fred, George, I need a second favour. Bring Professor Trelawney here. We'll have to offer her protection, even if she doesn't know she's under it."

Ron couldn't help but let out a groan at the idea.

-!-

Hermione was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the library, a book perched on her lap and a few others scattered around her. Harry had taken the chair and was leaning on top of the table, rubbing his eyes, and muttering obscenities about history books being so boring. Ron had been allowed to spend the afternoon asleep, where he was now in his room, snoring so loudly that a few spells had to be cast to lessen the noise.

"Stonehenge," said Harry, with an air of despair.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"I think one of the Horcruxes is in Stonehenge. All these books say that magic has a core focus in the site," Harry explained.

Hermione thought about it, allowing the idea to roll around her head. "No," she finally said, "I don't think so. _Where_ in Stonehenge would it be, anyway?"

Harry glared at her and closed his book. "If you were Voldemort and you've already used the caves, where would you hide the Cup?" he demanded.

"Let's see," said Hermione. "One Horcrux was buried in the ruins of his mother's home, the second in the caves where he spent most of his childhood, a third was giving to one of his loyal followers, a bad idea, and the fourth follows him around and can be controlled by him. The cup, which we know he used, must follow the pattern."

"Yes, but what _is_ the pattern?" Harry got up, stretched his legs a bit, and sat on the floor across Hermione determinately.

"And you're sure that Voldemort's father's house isn't an option?" Hermione continued.

"No, I mean, it's nearby his mother's house, innit? So what's the point in hiding two Horcruxes in the same village," said Harry. "Maybe… maybe we could go… ask around a bit. He murdered that old gardener." Harry rubbed his scar. "I remember that."

"Why don't we go?" Hermione said. "I mean, could it hurt? Those villagers always have gossip. And you know what they say, sometimes gossip has an edge of truth to it."

"We could look at the house," Harry agreed. "He must have abandoned it by now. Although, don't you think Dumbledore would have taken a look, as well?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably, but maybe he missed something. If anything, it'll help give you a feel of things. Remember, Dumbledore wanted you to know about Vo—Voldemort's past to understand his present actions."

Harry got up, putting the book he had closed before back onto its shelf. "Let's go then," he said.

"What, now?" Hermione looked startled.

"What better time than the present?" Harry pulled her to her feet. "It'll be best if Ron doesn't go. You know how he gets around Muggles."

"All right, let's go, then," Hermione agreed. "Let me go change and you can let Ginny know. Someone has to tell Remus where we are when he comes back." She paused at the doorway, looking slightly hesitant. "I think it's best if we don't tell Regulus."

-!-

"Where are you going?" Regulus was coming out of his room, as Hermione pulled on her coat.

"Out with Harry," she replied. "Ron and Ginny will be staying behind."

Regulus grabbed her arm lightly, and pulled her towards him. "You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"

Hermione pulled back. "Of course not," she squeaked. "Please don't bother Ron."

Regulus gave her forehead a quick kiss and winked. "You and me, Miss Granger, will have to discuss a few things when you get back," he muttered, releasing her.

Hermione found herself smiling at him. "Certainly, Mister Black," she quipped. And before she could actually register doing it, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and hurried down the stairs.

Regulus felt satisfied with himself.

-!-

Little Hangleton was a very simple village, in which its streets seemed almost deserted during the afternoon, possibly because of the scorching heat. Harry and Hermione, both dressed as Muggles, walked down the path, after having Apparated, taking the scenery in. The houses were small but nicely patched up, with little gardens and white picket fences. The only grim-looking house was the one perched on top of the hills, with its windows boarded up and looking like it hadn't seen people in decades.

"That must be the Riddle House," Harry pointed out, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

Hermione looked, shading her eyes from the sun. She imagined a house like that must have a lot of history in the small village, which was precisely what they were looking for.

The Hanged Man, a quaint looking pub, was stationed between two houses, and looked like the only place people went to see their neighbours. Harry wanted to head on to the Riddle House, but Hermione grabbed his arm and nudged him towards the pub.

"I'll buy you a drink," she offered.

Harry rose an eyebrow, shoved his glasses higher up his nose—it was becoming an annoying habit—and followed her inside.

The inside of The Hanged Man was not very different from that of The Hog's Head; it was dark, artfully covered in dust, and although the barman gave them a smile and most of the place was filled, it seemed a great contrast from the houses outside.

The world outside has moved on, but this place has probably stayed the same, thought Hermione.

"What can I get the two of you?" the barman asked, still smiling.

Harry was automatically going to ask for a Butterbeer, but caught himself in the last minute, "I'll have a, er, Coke, please."

The barman turned to Hermione. "Water, thank you," she said.

"You two aren't from around these parts," an old woman said, turning away from the bar to stare at them. "Young couple eloping, eh?"

Harry began to choke on air, and Hermione thumped his back. "No," she said, giggling slightly, "we're just passing through. Our parents are actually looking for a house. We couldn't help but notice—oh, thank you," she stopped to take a sip of her water, "we couldn't help but notice that house that is boarded up on the hill. It must have a good price on it."

A sudden silence seemed to come over the pub. The old woman broke into hacking coughs, and the barman let a glass slip.

"Don't want to be buying that," he murmured. "Haunted, I guarantee. Nobody's bought it in over fifty years."

"Really?" asked Hermione, trying to sound incredulous. But the view must be fantastic!"

"It was bought," someone else—a man with auburn hair and a bushy moustache—said. "By some wealthy owner, probably a Londoner, who had it for a few years. He put it back on the market about three, four years ago."

"Aye, ack," agreed the barman, "but the man never showed his face, did he? And then old Frank went and died… suspicious, that. Of course, that house is nothing but bad luck. You wouldn't want that, Miss."

"No, I don't suppose I would," Hermione agreed lightly.

"Surely people die eventually," said Harry, looking amused. "I don't think that makes the house bad luck." Only Hermione could sense the light strain in his voice.

"He wasn't the first, laddie," the old woman said, seeming to have regained her breath. "And I don't think he'll be the last if that house is filled with people again. 'Tis a pity, o'course."

"What do you mean he wasn't the first?" Hermione prodded.

They all looked nervously at each other. "Three other died before old Frank did. They's was the people he worked for. The Riddle family, an old couple and their only son," the barman said. "They died of something, but no one could find out what. They said Frank killed 'em, but there wasn't any proof. And then he went and died… well, you could say of old age, but I don't think so."

"Aye, with the exception of his bad luck, Frank was as fit as they come," the old lady agreed. "Bad luck that house!"

"It started before that house if the stories are true," the auburn-haired man said thoughtfully. "I remember the stories of young Riddle and his bride. Gold-digger, apparently."

"I think I'd like to go see this house," Harry said, standing up and taking out a few notes to pay for his drink.

"Nah, nah, it's on the house," the barman muttered, shaking his hand at Harry. "You two just be careful. The Riddle House won't bring anyone any good!"

Hermione and Harry said their goodbyes and headed out into the sunlight.

"That house will never get sold," Hermione said as they walked up the hill.

"Who'd want to buy it?" Harry asked incredulous.

"I don't know. Maybe a change would make a bit of good," said Hermione. "I mean, it's been lived in by Riddles for ages, hasn't it? Perhaps if someone new came along…."

They reached the front door of the house, which looked old and was covered in mould. Rain had done it damage and the years had been even harder on it. Harry stared at it for a few seconds before turning the doorknob, and they both carefully walked in.

"Harry, I've been thinking," said Hermione. The floorboards didn't look like they'd hold a lot of weight. "Perhaps you should take up Legilimency."

"What?" Harry stopped and stared at her.

"Well, that is how Dumbledore found out most of his information, isn't it? I was thinking that maybe if you learned it, a lot of doors would open, so to speak," Hermione explained, taking a slightly defensive tone.

"And who would show me? Dumbledore's dead and Snape… oh, wait, that's right, Snape turned on us," Harry said angrily.

"Never mind, then," snapped Hermione.

Harry ignored her and continued through the house. He came into the room where he had seen Voldemort and Wormtail by the fireplace, where they had killed Frank. He felt himself shudder, and turned to see Hermione looking at him worriedly.

"I think I sort of expected the Cup to be sitting on the mantelpiece," he admitted.

Hermione smiled. "I think I did too," she said. She looked around the room. Even though only an armchair had been left behind, there was a slight buzz in the air, like a presence had been left behind. Magic, she supposed, since this house did have a history of it.

They could not investigate the house thoroughly, for the house had shown its age by decaying and bits and pieces were falling, peeling and threatening to collapse under their feet in general. As Hermione glanced out the window towards the other houses, that seemed to be happy and mocking of the one they were in, she realised that Voldemort would never have planted something valuable in his father's old house; after all, bad history or not, it could always have been sold at some point.

Harry and Hermione returned to Chadwick, disappointed.

-!-

**Final notes:** I might get one more chapter in before Christmas. Happy holidays everyone!

In the following chapters: Hogwarts, Azkaban, important memories, Hermione starts solving the puzzle that is Regulus, and… a Death Eater for the Order?


	11. Gryffindor's Sword

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (11)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** A huge thank you to my beta, who has helped so much—especially during her holidays.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: GRYFFINDOR'S SWORD**

Hermione stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, deep in thought. What had started as a mental map piecing together the clues of Voldemort's Horcruxes had turned into a rather frustrating analysis of Regulus.

Hermione just didn't know where she stood with him.

He was not the intelligent, sophisticated man she had dreamed with her entire life. Regulus was, however, a man that did not show his cards too early. He had the brains hidden somewhere, as well as that superior act that the Malfoys made so annoying.

And yet, Hermione was attracted to him, even though she wasn't quite sure why.

Ron was a thought of the past. Even after Lavender, Ron was incredibly ignorant to Hermione's feelings. Regulus, on the other hand, wasn't. So in a battle between Ron and Regulus, Regulus was winning.

Except—except!—Hermione felt, perhaps _knew_, that those secret kisses, quick hugs, and appreciative teasing wasn't completely honest. There was something that Regulus was looking for, and he was looking for it in her.

His magic back, stop her from finding out the truth about him, perhaps finding a way to stab Harry in the back? It was all possible, but she couldn't help but blush and feel pleased when he was watching her. It was like having her own little secret and being able to watch it float about in a snow globe.

And that was dangerous.

Hermione sighed. Perhaps it was time for her to forget a bit about Voldemort and dig a bit deeper into Regulus's past.

-!-

Fred and George had been too busy to go back to Hogwarts to bring Professor Trelawney, so Harry and Ron went while Professor McGonagall took Hermione to see Slughorn. As Ron had described the night he returned from visiting Grawp, Hogwarts look desolated, hunted, as if it hadn't been inhabited in centuries. An aura of despair seemed to surround it, and Harry felt the memories of Dumbledore's death clench at his insides.

Ron and Harry walked passed the gate, left unlocked by Hagrid who had gone on an unknown mission, and up the pathway towards the front door that was no longer kept locked. Nobody would really think twice of coming back to Hogwarts. Neither of the boys tried to make small talk, and their walk grew quicker in pace.

Ron pushed the door open, and the cold silence seemed to shake them.

"Come on," said Harry, "Fred and George said Trelawney spends her time in the Great Hall."

Filch had long retired with Madam Pince to a country home in Wales, and the memories of teasing Hermione about their secret relationship made Harry smile briefly. He couldn't help but notice how all the portraits had awaken upon his arrival, and kept trying to peer down at him, quiet as doormice.

"Harry Potter has finally arrived," a voice said.

Firenze had been waiting for them. The handsome centaur did not look beaten like everyone else, and instead maintained a straight posture that showed off strength and courage.

"Firenze," Harry greeted. "We've come to find Trelawney."

Firenze nodded. "A good idea," he said, looking like he meant it. "I'll take you to her."

They followed him to the Great Hall, where Trelawney was perched on top of a table, swinging a bottle of sherry, taking large sips, and then prodding her crystal ball, which was floating in front of her.

"Ah! Harold—"

"Harry," Harry corrected automatically, pushing up his glasses.

"Harry, of course! I knew you were coming," Trelawney continued, slurring slightly.

Ron looked pointedly at Harry. _She's drunk_ was what he wanted to say.

"I'm so lonely here!" Trelawney wailed. "The portraits wander off or pretend to be asleep, the house-elves have gone, even the ghosts seem to find their entertainment elsewhere." She hiccupped and then pointed at Firenze. "As for him! Calls himself a professor! Hmph!"

"Er, yes, look, we're here to take you away," Harry said tersely.

"To _St. Mungo's_?" Trelawney demanded. "I will not go! Dumbledore said I could stay! Dumbledore!"

"Not St. Mungo's," snapped Ron, adding something that sounded like, "you mad old bat," under his breath.

"It would be wise to follow Harry Potter," Firenze said in his deep voice. He looked calm, but Harry knew he would be happy to be rid of Trelawney. "Danger awaits you, if you stay here."

"Danger, eh? How would _you_ know, my quadruple friend… quadrupled…." Another hiccup. "My crystal ball does not fail me!" The Divination professor took another glance at her ball, and then turned a deadly shade of pale white. "Hum! Well, maybe, yes, maybe I should go with Mr Potter here."

Ron peered curiously at the crystal ball, but could see nothing beyond the swirling mists. He snickered, "I think Dementors are mating in your ball, Professor."

Harry bit back a snort. "Why don't you go pack your bags, Professor? We'll wait for you here," he said, smiling.

"Yes, right, I shall go do that." Trelawney went to take a last sip out of her sherry bottle, but Harry took it and pushed her towards the door. She gave a disgruntled hiccup but did not argue.

"She has known that she must leave," Firenze said, a slight edge of distaste in his tone. "She does not know why, but she knows she must go. Unfortunately, you humans prefer to drink your way to denial."

"Firenze, you know there's a place for you in my house if you need it," Harry offered. Ron shot him a disgruntled look.

The sides of Firenze's mouth twitched, and Harry felt embarrassed to know he was trying to smile. "Thank you, Harry Potter," the centaur said, "but Hagrid has been more than generous in offering me a safe home here. And someone must take care of Hogwarts until it can be rebuilt into a school once more."

-!-

Living with Professor Trelawney became unbearable after two days. Harry had removed all traces of liquor from his house, keeping only a few things stored in a secret panel in the wall Regulus had shown him. Trelawney seemed to take this the wrong way, and was paying everyone back by refusing to stop chatting.

In the course of three days she had read Ginny's palm, telling her that a short, dark and handsome stranger would sweep her off her feet. Everyone had automatically stared at Harry, but Harry had snapped that he was not short and the only sweeping he was going to be doing was with a broom, if they kept annoying both Kreacher and Dobby.

Trelawney had also fought twice with Hermione about her Inner Eye in which Hermione had lost control, and thrown a book at the professor. In return, Trelawney chucked her crystal ball, and Harry had yelled at everyone to go back to their rooms before he got really angry.

The best part was when Trelawney came upon Regulus. She insisted that she read his palm, but upon seeing a rather short life line, moved on to Tarot cards. The card of Death repeatedly came up (Trelawney failed to notice that the twins had swapped her deck for one of theirs), and she forced herself to look in the crystal ball. Ten tea cups later, the blood of a dead rooster and some magic beans from an old man named Jack, Trelawney made a startling realisation.

"You should be dead, my boy!" she cried at Regulus. "You have cheated Him long enough." She gave a loud shriek and went to bar herself in her room.

"Dead?" asked Fred, looking at Regulus. "You're meant to be dead, _really_?"

"What gave that away, dear brother?" George said. "The fact that he was killed? No!"

"Perhaps it's all his rotting skin, or those soulless eyes, or—" Fred ducked as Regulus tried to hit him. "Ah! It must be those adorable little angel wings and halo."

Regulus seethed as the twins marched off, laughing loudly.

"What's so funny?" he barked at Hermione, who was giggling behind him.

"The idea of you wearing a halo," she snickered. "I always thought they were horns. Oh, hey!"

She gave a startled yelp as Regulus picked her up and carried her to his room, grumbling something about where the twins could shove their halo and he'd show her horns.

In the mean time, Harry was downstairs with Remus, pleading, "Take her, please! She's driving us all mad!"

-!-

The end of the week brought Tonks, with bad news. "We couldn't get anything out of old Borgin, Harry," she said. "Both Kingsley and I tried on different occasions, but he said he couldn't give names off his list. And, of course, we can't threaten him with the Ministry, because someone might find out."

The members of the Order were gathered around the table. The only peope in the house who weren't allowed to attend were Professor Trelawney and Ginny, both off sulking because of it.

Hermione stole a glance at Harry, who was thinking over Tonks' words. Mad-Eye Moody was suggesting a raid of the shop, done quickly at night, and ending in the stealing of Borgin's records.

"Borgin only responds to threats. Are you sure you threatened him enough?" Harry asked.

Tonks looked insulted at the thought that she couldn't threaten someone sufficiently. "As far as we could go, without mentioning getting the Ministry involved," she said.

Regulus snorted, and half the table shot him an angry glare. "The only way to get old Borgin to talk is to warm his old ego a little," he said. "You should know this," he turned to look at Remus, "Sirius spent half his holidays running back and forth to Borgin's to see if he could get the old bastard to cough up any liquor sweets."

Remus nodded vaguely. Harry seemed slightly incredulous at the thought that Sirius would have spent his youth doing such things.

"Give me five minutes with Borgin, and I promise you I will have all the information you need," Regulus said.

"Ha!" someone snapped; it sounded like Mad-Eye.

"Absolutely not," said Kingsley. "We cannot allow you to wander around Diagon Alley, much less Knockturn. The Ministry was one thing, but…."

"_I_ can get you want you want," Regulus insisted. "Not to mention that I think I've proved my loyalty more than enough for this little group."

Hermione couldn't help but notice the way he glanced with slight hatred at Harry when he spoke. Harry, in change, looked pensive and he leaned over to Remus, whispering in his ear. The tension grew in the room, and everyone kept looking between Regulus and Harry.

"Tonight, I am going to visit Malfoy in Azkaban," Harry said. "I will take care of that first, and then we will see what we'll do about Borgin."

"Tonks, Kingsley, what do you know about Harry's visit tonight?" Remus asked, turning to the two Aurors.

"Scrimgeour is keeping a tight watch. He's asked for an extra shift of Aurors," Kingsley said. "I know that I'll be there."

"This is something that could go very, very wrong, Harry," Arthur said softly. "If Scrimgeour suspects that Malfoy has information we need, he could use it against you."

"We'll have to put our luck on the Felix Felicis. We have the diversion. If Kingsley will be there on patrol, then nobody needs to come with me. The less people there, the better." Harry held up his hand as Remus moved to object. "This has to be fast; we're running out of time. We're only hoping that Lucius will have something valuable for us. If he doesn't, then we need to immediately jump to the next plan. We cannot risk someone staying behind."

"Who's setting the distraction?" Mrs Weasley asked suspiciously.

"Yes, about that," admitted Fred, "there was a slight problem."

"We can't afford problems," Mad-Eye snapped.

"Mundungus was supposed to be in charge of it," Fred continued, "but I don't know if anyone's noticed he's not here."

Hermione looked around, as did most of the table. "Where is he?" she asked.

"In Azkaban," George muttered. "He got caught and his record is anything but clean."

Harry slammed a fist down on the table. "He'll bloody well stay there this time!" he said angrily.

Mrs Weasley muttered her agreement.

"I can take care of the distraction," Kingsley said quickly, raising his voice among the disgruntled members. "Nobody will suspect me, and I'll be on the site the entire time. The twins just need to give me a quick explanation. No problems. I'll personally take care of Mundungus."

Remus nodded. "Very well," he said. "Now that tonight has been taken care of, I think we can adjourn this meeting. We'll meet again tomorrow. Harry's right, we need to speed things up."

Everyone quickly left Dumbledore's Room, still upset over Mundungus' constant errors, and about missing the Quidditch match tomorrow night. Harry had stayed behind with McGonagall, and Hermione waited to see if they need her. Ron and Regulus stayed behind, as well.

"I had a brief chat with the Sorting Hat, Potter," McGonagall was saying, ignoring everyone else, "and there is something Albus wanted to pass on to you." She took out a large box, like the sort roses got sent in, and pulled out a large silver sword. It was extremely beautiful with studded rubies, and even though one could tell it was old, it looked brand new.

"Gryffindor's sword," Harry said in recognition.

Hermione let out a little gasp. She remembered Harry's tales of using it to fight against the Basilisk.

"The Sorting Hat passed on a message, as well," McGonagall said. "There is only one reason to use this sword and it only has one use. It does sound like something Albus would say."

"Do you—do you suppose it's to fight Voldemort?" Ron piped up, eyeing the egg-sized rubies.

"It's for Nagini," said Harry, holding up the sword. It made him look older. "It's to get rid of Nagini."

Nobody could argue against his confident tone.

"You'll have to keep it safe in the mean time, Potter." McGonagall smiled tiredly at them, nodded and left the room.

"Is that really Godric Gryffindor's sword?" Regulus asked after a while.

"Of course it is!" said Ron. "Harry, can I hold it?"

"No!" Hermione snapped as Harry made to hand it over. "You heard McGonagall. You've got to hide it away. You probably shouldn't tell anyone about this, either."

Ron had already taken the sword and was having a mock fight with the air.

"Bad things happen to those who take things that only belong to the proper heir of the four founders," Regulus warned. "My mummy used to tell me every night before I went to Hogwarts."

Hermione blinked. She couldn't imagine anyone calling angry Mrs Black "mummy".

"What do you mean? Dumbledore had it, and nothing happened to him," Ron pointed out, handing the sword back to Harry.

"He died, didn't he?" Regulus snapped.

"Ah," was all Ron could muster.

"Well, that's silly," Hermione said. "After all, Harry's not the heir of Gryffindor, and Dumbledore wouldn't have passed on anything dangerous to him."

"Well, how do you know I'm not?" Harry asked. "I mean, I don't think I am… or maybe I could be. Or _Ron_ could be, because he has Pureblood in him, don't he?"

Ron brightened at the thought. "Yeah!" he agreed.

"Don't be stupid," chastised Herimone. "If you'd read _Hogwarts: A History_ you'd know by now that Godric Gryffindor was completely—"

"—celibate," ended Regulus, grinning.

Hermione blushed, looking delighted that she had finally found someone who had read _Hogwarts: A History._

"_Gryffindor was celibate_?" Ron demanded, looking aghast at the thought. "Wasn't he supposed to be devilishly handsome, and rich and powerful?"

"Who also just happened to keep it in his trousers," Regulus said. "Therefore, no one here is candidate to be Gryffindor's long lost heir."

"So you better hide that sword properly, Harry," continued Hermione. "And only take it out when the time to… kill Nagini comes."

They split up after that. Regulus went back to his room, Ron kept Hermione company in the library, and Harry went to hide the sword. For a lack of a better place, he hid it under the bed and threw an old duvet on top, deciding to find a better place later on.

-!-

**Final notes:** So, we all believe that Gryffindor's sword is important. The question is: how so?

In the following chapters: Trelawney causes problems, Harry visits Azkaban, Hermione finds something out about Ron, and a Death Eater is brought home.


	12. Lucius Malfoy

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (11)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's note:** Any advice the readers may have is more than welcomed. I am, unfortunately, still a writer in trainer, and I'm always looking to perfect my limited skills. It is upsetting that we can't all be J.K. Rowlings overnight.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Time setting:** Post HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER TWELVE: LUCIUS MALFOY**

The Hufflepuffs' den was a room quite like Gryffindor Tower. It was large, comfortable and warm, and gave a feeling of being safe. It was a room that Harry had never been to except in his dreams, so the fact that at the moment he happened to be in it could only indicate the reality of the realm in which he was. A fire was roaring in the chimney, and the place was well lit with candles. There was no furniture in the place, except for an armchair with a high back. Sitting in it was a handsome boy, perhaps no older than seventeen, blond and smiling. Across his lap was a sword, one that he did not hold with his hands, imbedded with rubies.

Harry snorted. "You're really a pain in the arse, you know?" he said. "I'm trying to get some sleep, and here you are messing about in my head, Cedric."

Cedric smiled good-naturedly. "It was about time I dropped in for a chat, Potter. You've managed to cause a bit of a commotion, haven't you?"

A second chair appeared suddenly, although it was more of a stool, and Harry sat down, rolling his eyes. "What do you have for me this time? Enigmatic sign language? Riddles spelled with Gobstones?"

"You're awfully sarcastic tonight, Potter," said Cedric. "Have your houseguests rattled you up?"

"Ah," Harry said in understanding. "A warning. I like those best. Is it Professor Trelawney? Because, trust me, I've hidden all the liquor."

"It's Regulus Black, actually," and Cedric's smile disappeared. "We haven't spoken about him. But I've been inside his mind, Harry, and it's not good."

"Did you see dreams of Regulus standing over my bed with an axe?" Harry asked dryly. The logs in the fireplace snapped playfully.

"I'd keep a close eye on him if I were you," Cedric said. He touched a ruby on the sword. "You know me, your little guardian angel and all."

Harry scoffed. "Is there a particular reason why you're holding Gryffindor's sword? Is that a second warning, that it'd eat up my hand or something?"

Cedric grinned. "So you've heard that bedtime story about bad things happening to those who play with the heirs' things, eh?"

"Is it true?" Harry asked.

"Look at Voldemort." Cedric stood up, holding the sword with both hands, as though presenting it. "You know I like to be as cryptic as possible. It's a perk and all, but, Harry, listen to me carefully. This sword will bring you what you want, and it will take something from you. Only when you are ready to give something, can you use it."

Harry took the sword and nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure. Hey, want something to eat? I make the best blueberry pie. Well… in your dreams, of course," said Cedric, winking.

A blueberry pie appeared in front of Harry. "Er," he said. "Nah, thanks."

"Hermione was telling me about equivalent trade and how, because of it, we can't bring back the dead. This sword business sounds the same. Is it?" Harry asked.

Cedric grinned. "Hermione's a smart girl. I'd say the sword is about the same. And, before you ask, yes, you brought back Regulus, but the real question is where did you bring him from?"

Harry found the room fading before him, although Cedric still remained standing and looking the same.

"Oh, and one more thing, Harry. I'd start expanding your house a bit."

-!-

Before leaving for Azkaban, Harry helped himself to a generous amount of Felix Felicis. He instantly felt very happy, almost giddy, and the tension that had caused his shoulders to limp was lifted. He pushed his glasses up his nose, looked at his reflection in his mirror, and went with Arthur to the Ministry.

Despite being rush hour, the train compartment held little people and they arrived earlier than expected at the doors of the Ministry. Arthur dawdled nervously before Harry, but Harry gave him a confident grin and the man left, sulking.

Percy was waiting for him once again, and took him toward the lower floors of the Ministry, where the Portkeys were kept safe. Looking extremely annoyed, Percy pulled out a tattered old shoe from a shelf and handed it brusquely to Harry.

Without knowing why, Harry immediately found himself saying, "Penelope must be very happy that you're in such a high position, Perce." It took Harry a while to remember who exactly Penelope was.

Percy looked taken back, and answered almost whisperingly, "She's a bit upset that my family and I have taken different paths." And then after a slight pause, "She's making me sleep on the sofa."

Harry made sympathetic noises. "Oh, well, family differences and all," he mused.

Percy was looking at him strangely, but a familiar tug at Harry's navel stopped him from making any further comments, and he began to feel slightly queasy as the Portkey did its job.

Harry had imagined Azkaban to be a sort of Hogwarts-like castle but filled with dungeons and cells instead of classrooms. He was only right on one point, and that was the fact that Azkaban had plenty of cells.

He had arrived about fifteen steps from the entrance, but the entire building seemed to loom in front of him in the most menacing way possible. It was shaped like a rectangle and seemed to run on for many miles while it only had four storeys. The magic that shaped it, made it look as old as Hogwarts and gave off a strong, dark vibe that made Harry feel as though he were battling a big Boggart and had forgotten how to banish it.

Almost instinctively, even though his wand was still in his pocket, he began to muster happy thoughts: riding a broom for the first time; learning that Sirius wanted them to be a family; knowing that someone out there really loved him; Ginny kissing him in the Common Room; Chadwick being unveiled before his eyes. All these thoughts failed and Harry only felt more devastation. He wondered if this was what Azkaban felt like without Dementors, how bad was it before?

Only the effect of the Felix Felicis seemed to allow him to continue walking.

Two people were waiting for him. One was someone unknown, tall, male, with a black beard and moustache but no hair on his head. The other was Kingsley, who looked bored and inattentive to his surroundings.

"Potter," Kingsley greeted, his tone cold and impersonal, "the Ministry has given strict orders that we are to keep guard on you during your visit. For safety reasons, of course. If you have your pass?"

Harry handed him the slip of paper wordlessly. The other Auror kept glancing at him, his eyes always returning to the lightning bolt scar.

"Follow us, then," Kingsley said. "The Minister said you wanted to visit Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes, please," Harry answered. The potion was telling him to remain polite, and not just because it was Kingsley. Something about the other Auror was important; a detail that was wrapping around Harry's mind, but that he couldn't place. Only the Felix Felicis told him to act normal, to ignore the show he had put on at the Ministry the other day.

The other Auror held the door open, and Kingsley walked in, followed by Harry, and then the other. They kept that position throughout the entire trip. Harry tried to focus his stare on what was ahead of him, but he couldn't help and look at the cells to his sides. There was a lack of inmates, and the few that were there, stared at Harry blankly, recognising him immediately, but not uttering a single sound.

Azkaban was divided into various sections, and the farther you ventured inside, the more dangerous the prisoner. It felt, to Harry, like the circles of Hell. They passed at least three blocks before coming to a stop. The block was completely deserted except for a light in one cell; Harry didn't have to guess who was in it.

The second Auror pulled up a chair for Harry. Lucius Malfoy was staring at him, but didn't acknowledge his presence. His blond hair had been cut short and looked filthy. He was wearing the standard dark grey robes, which made his pale skin stand out. Harry saw that Malfoy had the appearance of a dying man.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mister Potter," Malfoy finally rasped.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the potion held him back.

There was a loud commotion and the sound of doors being slammed open, resonated. Kingsley and the other Auror were startled as a third appeared, yelling, "We have a break out! That bastard's set fireworks and managed to sneak out of his cell! Red alert!"

"What bastard?" Kingsley demanded.

Fireworks? thought Harry. Well, it had worked once….

"That cunning thief!" the Auror spat. "Fletcher!"

Harry's eyebrows raised and he looked at Kingsley curiously. However, Kingsley looked surprised himself.

"Surely you only need a handful of Aurors to take care of that matter?" Kingsley demanded.

"The fireworks are reproducing! Fletcher is letting out all the inmates of the second block! It's a disaster!" the Auror wailed.

"For goodness's sake! Humphrey, go with him!" Kingsley ordered. "If Mister Potter finishes his task and those prisoners aren't back in the cells, it'll cost you both your jobs!"

Humphrey and the third Auror nodded vigorously and broke into a run, not giving Harry a second glance. Harry wondered who had staged Mundungus' outbreak. Kingsley, looking slightly grumpy, gave Lucius a warning glance and went to stage himself at the door as a look out.

"I hear Dumbledore is dead," Malfoy continued, as though such troubles in Azkaban were common. "Apparently my Lord finally got his hand in."

The memory of that night became bright in Harry's mind. He found himself lying. "It was your son, actually, who killed Professor Dumbledore."

Kingsley's eyes widened slightly before he resumed his normal pose.

Lucius looked surprised. "_Draco_?" he rasped. "It was Draco?"

Harry nodded. "I'm surprised nobody's come to boast. Draco managed to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and then slayed Dumbledore with his own wand." Harry's tone became angry. "I guess he got his revenge for you being here, eh?"

Malfoy looked thoughtful, but Harry didn't know if he was happy or upset about the news. They stared at each other for a while, both studying the other.

"What are you here for, Potter?" Malfoy demanded. "I happen to have a very busy schedule."

Harry bit back a snort. The Felix Felicis told him not to reveal anything yet. The walls had ears. Now was not the time.

"I thought we could have a small chat," Harry said. "Perhaps something you forgot to tell the Aurors, and would like to tell me."

Malfoy laughed. It sounded hollow and forced and echoed across the walls. "You can shove all the Veritaserum you like down my throat, Potter. I will not betray my Lord," he snapped.

"Draco almost did," Harry said, keeping his tone normal, as though he were discussing a Quidditch match. "I was there that night, did you know?"

Lucius stared at him, calculating, but didn't comment. He knew he was being baited; dehydration hadn't rattled his brains.

"It was just him and Dumbledore," Harry continued. "Draco raised his wand, Dumbledore didn't have his." And then as the potion squeezed the night back to life, "It was very smart the way Draco did it. He was all set, wasn't he? Made a name for himself. All that boasting of being the youngest Death Eater was true."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Lucius said, his voice dry.

Harry pretended to look surprised. He was angry, furious, reliving that night. He wanted to make Lucius pay for what his son had done. Felix Felicis, however, kept him calm, stopped him from showing his rage, almost telling him what to do.

"But then something happened," he said, leaning as close to the bars as possible, as if sharing some secret with Lucius. "Draco broke down. I guess that happens when someone is threatening to kill you all the time. Well… I would know, wouldn't I?"

Harry observed as Lucius cleared his throat, his fists clenching, but whether out of pride or pity he couldn't tell. Lucius still wouldn't say anything, and Harry knew he was being studied as hard as he was studying Lucius in return. The faint sound of fireworks whizzing around and blowing up could still be heard.

"Draco… Draco reminded me of a saying that Professor Lupin told me once," Harry continued. He was lying; Remus had never done such thing, but it was the first name to come to mind. "He said, 'The courageous man is that of good intentions.' I don't personally believe it, but that's what Lupin said." Harry paused for effect. The potion was telling him to be careful, these were the last few steps. "I guess that would make Draco courageous, then, wouldn't it? I mean, from what I heard that night, he was doing it based on good intentions—of course, not the ideal ones for us, but pretty loyal to Mrs Malfoy." Harry was going to say Narcissa, but it seemed too personal to do so.

Lucius was suddenly on his feet, gripping the bars. Kingsley moved closer, but Harry shook his head. This was what he was waiting for. He eyed Lucius, but remained seated. Inside, he was trembling to death out of fear and fury.

"_What are you talking about_?" Lucius hissed.

Something seemed to clench at Harry's heart, twisting it violently, making him utter the words through exhausted breath, "Mrs Malfoy is dead. Voldemort had her killed. Draco did all of that for nothing."

Kingsley looked surprised, but it was nothing in comparison with Lucius' face. He had turned a pasty green, ready to be ill, clutching on to the bars of his prison as if he were a sailor being blown away.

"You're…" Lucius failed. He only stared at Harry, completely losing his composure. For the first time Harry saw him as a man who had lost everything.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, pretending to mean it, pretending that Mrs Malfoy was actually dead. Who knew, maybe she was.

"What… what of Draco?" demanded Lucius.

Harry shrugged casually. "Our informants tell us he's next in line for the noose. After all, a sixteen-year-old boy is of no real use to your Lord, is he? Draco's already done his bit."

It actually pained Harry that Lucius accepted this; that the possibility of Voldemort eliminating Draco after such a successful job like Hogwarts was quite capable of happening. For one brief moment Harry worried about Draco, but then the rage of Dumbledore's death returned.

Lucius had sunk to the floor. He was kneeling, pressing his forehead against the bars. He looked like a dying man praying.

Harry knelt in front of Lucius, staring at him straight in the eye, but not saying anything. The potion was prodding him, making him leave, but to leave his body, not Azkaban. Harry felt as though he was stepping away from his physical being, like those films of ghosts leaving their bodies. In a way, like a dream, he could see himself step up, leaving a Harry kneeling, lean over to Lucius, and then enter the blond man.

Harry knew it was Legilimency, or at least a form of it, but he ignored all rational thought and allowed the potion to guide him. He'd ask Hermione all his questions later.

The first thing Harry thought was that perhaps he had made a wrong turn somewhere. He was standing in a library; it went on and on. He couldn't, in fact, see where the room ended either in height or length. Books adorned the shelves in many sizes and shapes. Harry cautiously took one.

Suddenly he was in a field. White tents had been erected and in the distance a large, looming house could be seen. Balloons in white and gold adorned the place, and a long table filled with food had been set up. Harry realised that people were bustling around him.

_A memory_.

"Kuh! That baby looks like it'll have its face on posters and on the covers of books, not be in politics," someone said.

Harry sort out the voice, seeing a small group of people gathered around. He immediately recognised them.

Lucius Malfoy, dressed in plush green robes, was standing next to his wife, who, for the first time, Harry saw smiling. She looked incredibly beautiful in white robes, and was holding a small infant. It looked like a boy, small and slightly chubby, with fluffy blond hair and a delighted smile.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. It was Draco!

"Don't be mean, Rodolphus," a woman with long black hair said. "Draco is meant to do important things."

It was Bellatrix. Harry was only able to recognise her because of her voice. There was a startling difference between how she looked now and how she looked when he had seen her in the Ministry.

"Is Andromeda coming?" Narcissa asked, as Draco tried to wriggle out of her arms.

Bellatrix snorted. "That Muggle-loving bitch?"

Lucius patted his wife's hand. "Don't worry about it, Cissa," he said soothingly. "I'm sure Andromeda would love to, but she probably got caught up in her own affairs."

Harry walked backwards, trying to get back to the spot he had appeared in, without losing sight of the family. It seemed so strange to see them like that, normal, happy.

_Take me back to the library_, he thought.

Harry lost his balance as he was whizzed from one place to another, and stumbled into a bookshelf, causing quite a few volumes to fall on top of him. He was still holding the one that had taken him to see the party of Draco's birth. The book stared back at him. There was no title on the cover, no clue to guide him to finding others.

_The potion_.

Harry concentrated as much as possible on finding the correct volume. He sat up, brushing the books off him. He saw a volume lying in front of him, its pages already open, almost daring him to pick it.

_This is the one_.

Harry took it.

Harry took it and then he went back to his body.

-!-

**Final notes:** Dream!Cedric isn't what he seems to be, Professor Trelawney has a prophecy, Ron has a secret and Hermione finds out, Death Eaters, and Harry expands his home to fit one more.


	13. Harry's Secret Keeper

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (12)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's Note:** I don't know if you've all read my author's notes on my profile page, but I lost all the chapters of SMftS that I had in my old computer. This is the last chapter I have saved, because it was in the hands of my beta (bless her). However, after this, I have absolutely nothing written (which is a shame, because I had up to chapter 16 at least). Because of this disaster, updates will be taking a while to appear, and I hope you'll all bear with me. On the other hand, this leaves space for new ideas.

**Rating:** PG-13, includes swearing, among other things

**Time setting:** Post HBP, including spoilers

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HARRY'S SECRET KEEPER**

Harry slept in the next morning, and no one bothered to wake him, knowing he needed his sleep, and accepting Kingsley's vague explanation as good enough until Harry would tell the story himself. The household was quiet that day; Ron had left, albeit angrily, to help his mother back at the Burrow with the preparations for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Kingsley had retired to one of the guest rooms for a nap, taking the day off from the Ministry. Hermione was making an attempt at knitting a jumper for Ron and Harry (and possibly Regulus, but she kept that a secret). Regulus, who everyone thought had barricaded himself in his room once again, was actually in Harry's, sitting in a chair and staring across at the sleeping boy, like some disturbing guardian angel.

There would be no meeting of the Order that day. It was a hot day, which provoked cold lemonade and a cool nap, but **it was **also a day that mocked you, because you had too much to do instead of relaxing. It was almost twenty past three when Harry finally woke up, rubbing his eyes and fumbling for his glasses. The blurry image of someone sitting on the other side of his room came into focus, and he looked at Regulus suspiciously.

"Sleep well?" Regulus asked.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Harry said, unconsciously lifting the sheets to his chin.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Kingsley left about an hour ago. He's going to bring Tonks around tonight," he said, getting up and stretching. "Molly left some cold meat and jacket potatoes for you. There's also a nice pitcher of blueberry juice your girlfriend made."

"Ginny's not my girlfriend," Harry muttered, finally getting out of bed. ("Who said Ginny?" grinned Regulus.) "I—I brought a book with me. I think. I don't remember much about last night. There is a book, right?"

Regulus nodded towards the desk, where a book had been placed. The book looked so ancient, it seemed to be _fading_ away. "Hermione said we shouldn't read it until you awoke," he explained, sounding like he had tried.

"Is Hermione the only one here?" Harry asked. Upon Regulus's nod, he said, "Do me a favour, go get some of that leftover lunch and bring Hermione. I need to tell someone about what happened last night."

Regulus obeyed and was back in twenty minutes with Hermione trailing behind him, balancing a tray stocked with food. She smiled at Harry, giving him a hug, and tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Harry helped himself to a bit of the meat and potatoes, before relating the experience he had gone through with Lucius. He carefully detailed the library he had been in to Hermione, asking her for an explanation. "What I don't understand," he said, "was why Malfoy's mind was all books, while my memories just sort of jumped around."

Regulus snorted.

Hermione looked thoughtful, wetting her lips with her tongue, before answering, "Well, Malfoy must have what is called an 'organised mind', Harry. It means he has everything piled up, not, as you put it, jumping around. From what I've read, it happens when most people have little to worry about—which I suppose is the case when you're in Azkaban. Also, teenagers are the opposite, our minds are always spinning about," she said.

"You're lucky," Regulus said. "If Malfoy's brain had been having little spasms, you probably never would have found what you were looking for."

Hermione looked at the book in something akin to fright. "It worries me that you took that, Harry. I mean, you just _took_ it. I don't think that's happened before. You shouldn't have—Malfoy might suffer—" She trailed off uncomfortably.

"I don't think the potion would have let me take it, if it was dangerous to do so," Harry said.

"The Felix Felicis makes you do stupid things," Regulus muttered. "Anyway, have you tried bottling the book? It looks like a good breeze would annihilate it."

"Can you actually bottle it?" Hermione wondered. ("I hear you can bottle kittens these days," offered Regulus.) "That's another thing. Who's ever seen a memory as an object? It's always mist, isn't it?"

Harry had emptied the pitcher of blueberry juice and he stared at it pensively. "All right, bottle it, Hermione," he said.

"What, with _that_? That's not even a bottle!" she objected.

"Well, _pitcher _it, then," Harry said. "Go on. I feel too weak to do anything today."

Hermione made a sound of disgust and approached the book tentatively, holding out her wand in one hand and the jug in the other. She knew that moving memories was an easy thing, consisting only of guiding the memory into a recipient, in case it found another place to rest. Her fingers hovered over the book and, taking a deep breath, she opened it.

A swirl of mist rose from the pages. It looked harmless, and Hermione carefully used her wand to move it towards the pitcher. Regulus clapped in appreciation. As the mist settled in its new home, the book seemed to shimmer before disappearing completely.

Regulus suddenly frowned, his shoulders drooping slightly.

"Brilliant job, Hermione!" congratulated Harry. "I'll have a look at it later." He yawned. He was about to add something, but there was a persistent knock on the door. Harry frowned, giving permission for the person to come in.

Trelawney stumbled in, her robes trailing behind her. Her glasses were placed askew across her nose, and her wild hair looked tousled. "You!" she cried, pointing at Harry. "The planets have aligned in your favour! They speak against the Dark Lord, and they speak against his followers. The Chosen One they have called!"

Professor Trelawney had knelt by Harry's bed, taking his hand in hers. "They have spoken of you for many years, Chosen One," she continued, her voice thick and her breath smelling of sherry. "They call for you!"

"Oi, get out of here, you great old bat," Regulus snapped, moving to grab her.

"You must listen!" Trelawney pulled Harry to her. "You cannot play your game alone, Chosen One. You are missing a piece, your equal, your mirror. Without him you cannot move forward. Are you the Chosen One, Hodur?"

"Hodur?" Regulus demanded. "How did we go from Hodur to Harry?"

Harry had remained silent, and he stared mesmerised at Trelawney. "He will lead you to darkness, but darkness is but a tunnel," she said.

"Who's he?" Hermione asked, her voice hoarse.

"He… he is not the Chosen One," Trelawney muttered. She stood up, let go of Harry's hand, dusted off her clothes, and marched out of the room, as if nothing had happened.

"I—I—what just happened?" Harry demanded.

Hermione was still clutching the pitcher, her fingers white. "She said you were missing… a piece? A _person_. There's someone we need? Someone we haven't noticed we need?" She stared at Regulus.

"Mad old bat denied Potter his Chosen One title, didn't she?" Regulus asked, ignoring Hermione's inquisitive looks.

"No," she answered. "She kept calling Harry the Chosen One. She said this other person wasn't the Chosen One. But that's silly. Only Harry is, so obviously anyone else wouldn't be." Hermione frowned. "Hodur? Does that sound familiar to you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Trelawney was probably just drunk. Ignore her. We need to focus on getting the Horcruxes."

-!-

"Knew I'd find you here," Ron said, pulling off his jumper. He had just arrived, and was looking extremely peaky and in need of a break.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "This is my bedroom, Ron," he said smartly.

Ron grinned lazily and jumped onto Harry's bed. "Yes, well, that's why I knew I'd find you here, isn't it? Look, I know you're upset about the whole Hodur thing, but you can't let it get to you."

Harry, who had been sitting at his desk, playing with a crumpled-up piece of paper, frowned. "Why shouldn't I? Do you think I want people to be more fanatical about me? Or that Scrimgeour will be breathing down my neck next time I step out of Chadwick? Or what about that mad glint in Hermione's eye whenever this religion thing is mentioned?" Harry slammed both fists on the table angrily. "Fuck it, Ron. They're trying to make me into a bloody God."

Ron didn't seem to know what to say. He had scooted to the edge of the bed, and was trying to smile reassuringly. After a while he said, "We'll get through this, Harry. It's not important."

"It's easy for you to say," snapped Harry. "You're not the one in the spotlight." He immediately regretted the words, remembering Ron's tendency to get jealous, and indeed the remarks had hit hard, for Ron had flushed an angry red.

"Right, I know. I'm not the Boy Wonder," Ron said breezily. "I can _never_ be as good as you are."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said, "and you know it. I'm sorry."

Ron shrugged, getting up. He towered over Harry. "Harry," he began uncomfortably, "you know that no matter what, I'll always be your best mate, right? Even if I'm not as good as you at Quidditch or spells or as intelligent as Hermione—"

"Yes, you are," Harry murmured.

"But I'll always be there for you," continued Ron, ignoring him. "You know I'll always protect you."

Harry grinned. "Well, you _are_ my Secret Keeper. I expect some protection in return."

Ron ruffled Harry's already lively hair. "You idiot, I'd sell your location for the prize of a good broomstick."

"Just a broomstick?" Harry demanded, and they both broke into laughter.

Hermione froze outside Harry's room. Her fists clenched in undesired surprise, as she thought, "Ron is Harry's Secret Keeper? _Ron_?"

-!-

It had been almost midnight when Hermione was woken by a large bang, an explosion that seemed only far enough to let her know the house was still standing, but probably not the neighbourhood. She grabbed her wand and threw on a blue bathrobe, which had been laid by her bed for such circumstances. She didn't bother to turn on her lights, only creep into the hallway. A smell of smoke had wafted through the house. Something was burning.

Harry had rushed down the hallway, and they bumped into each other. He grabbed onto her shoulders, staring at her.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked.

"There was an explosion. I think it's a few houses down. The Dark Mark, didn't you see it?" He looked ready to say more, but Ginny had just appeared, looking grim.

"Ron's not in his bed," she said, her voice had already taken on a slight edge of despair. "I went to check, but he's not there!"

"What?" both Harry and Hermione pushed Ginny aside, running to check on Ron's bedroom themselves.

The bed was unmade, as if Ron had left in a hurry, and the pair of trainers he usually left thrown by the door, were missing.

"He must have gone out, the idiot!" Harry exclaimed.

Tonks and Regulus had run up to their floor, both in equal states of having been just woken up. Tonks looked at Ron's room, frowning, as Regulus peered out the window. His face was hidden by the shadows, but more than one person felt they saw a delighted grin.

"You can't go out there, Harry," Tonks said. "Those Death Eaters are probably on a random raid, but we can't risk them seeing you. You're all protected while you're in this house."

"But Ron's out there!" Hermione snapped, the urgency in her voice. Why weren't they going to find him? Ron was so important! Was she the only one who knew that Ron was Harry's Secret Keeper?

For a brief second, images of Peter Pettigrew flooded Hermione's mind. She shook them off angrily; Ron was not Pettigrew. He would never be a traitor. She was just bitter about not knowing.

Tonks was already transforming. Her bubblegum pink hair turned black, her height shortened and the colour of her skin darkened. She turned to Regulus, saying, "Make sure they stay here. You hear me, Harry? I need you to wait here."

And then she ran off.

Hermione moved closer to Regulus, seeking some sort of comfort. Harry looked furious, clenching his fists. Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, lifting her chin defiantly. "Let's go to the kitchen," she said, taking Harry by the elbow. "We can wait for Tonks and Ron to return. Ron will probably want a sandwich."

-!-

Tonks stuck to the shadows of the houses as much was possible. It wasn't an easy task; the previous explosion had brought the Muggles out of the bed, turning on lights and coming to see what had happened. _Please go back to your beds_, Tonks pleaded.

The Order should be on their way, but until then, Tonks knew it was important to only find Ron. If he had been captured, Harry's life would be running on a thick wire. The smoke was making it hard to see, and it caught up in her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe.

The Death Eaters were having a merry old time, making the Muggles whiz in the air and do cartwheels. Tonks prayed that she wouldn't come across her aunt or uncle, although the thought of facing Snape made her slightly giddy with revenge.

There was nothing left of the house that had been in the explosion, other than the garden. The Death Eaters had moved on to terrorise the neighbours, who had come to assist, and Tonks tried to block out the screams and pleadings.

She dodged into a hedge that separated two houses, taking a deep breath. She watched through the leaves as two men in black walked past her, laughing and swearing. She was about to run off to the next series of hedges, when the point of a wand poked into the back of her neck.

Tonks gulped.

"Don't move," someone hissed.

Tonks relieved her muscles slightly, recognising the voice. "Ron—it's me," she said.

The wand did not move, nor did the grip on it lessen.

"Tonks," she emphasised, remembering how she looked. "Hold on. I'm going to change my hair."

She calmed herself and concentrated on returning her hair to its usual vivid colour. She had only gone a bit farther than the tips when the wand was dropped.

"You fucking scared me, Tonks!" Ron exclaimed.

Tonks felt herself letting go a deep breath. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I was awakened by the noise two Death Eaters made passing under my window. I thought I'd come and see," Ron explained.

"Well, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do!" Tonks turned around to scold him and froze.

Ron was tightly holding onto a young girl. It was too dark to make out her features, but it was enough for Tonks to worry.

"I couldn't—I couldn't—" Ron said. "She's one of them. But I couldn't… she tried to… I know her."

"I know," Tonks said softly. She sighed. "Now we'll have to see how we get back without being seen. And I don't suppose leaving her behind will do any good."

There was a loud bang. "Retreat!" someone yelled, and his voice was accompanied by a howlish scream, and a series of spells going off.

Tonks bit her lip, turning her hair back to black. She peered out through the leaves. The Death Eaters were retreating, and she thought she could see Mad Eye waving his wand threateningly.

"Ron, this is our chance. Have you got a good hold onto, er, her?" Tonks saw Ron nod. "Ok, on the count of three, we run straight for Chadwick. Keep behind the houses. Don't stop for anything."

Ron grasped the young girl tighter and received a squirm in return. Tonks gave a reassuring smile and then counted to three.

They ran.

-!-

Ron knew that he had never been yelled at so much in his life before, not even by his mother. He felt that, if Harry had allowed a dog to live in Chadwick, the dog would have been angrily barking at him as well.

Remus had gone on and on about putting Harry's life in danger—a stupid thing to do considering that, in the first place, Harry's secrecy depended on him.

Hermione had yelled through tears about how he had gone off by himself, without telling anyone.

His father had turned tomato-red, demanding to know what had gone through his head.

Professor McGonagall had called him the most thick-headed boy she had ever known.

Regulus had thumped him on the back, saying that he was the ideal Gryffindor, but, seriously, how come he managed to bring back a Muggle when Regulus couldn't even have a dog?

Ginny had slammed a plate of food in front of him, alongside a mug of hot chocolate.

The only person who hadn't yelled at him yet—even Kingsley, Mad Eye and _Fleur_ of all people had had a word in—was his Mother. And that was because she was occupied giving the girl he had brought home, some attention.

"And to bring back Parkinson of all people!" Harry roared.

Okay, not just any girl, he supposed.

It was a quarter past five in the morning, when the Order finally retreated, deciding to regroup for a meeting later that day, finally leaving Ron to relax. The trio watched as they left, leaving behind only Tonks, who headed back to bed.

"Don't you ever do that again," Harry hissed.

Ron held up his hands in defence. "I promise, mate. Really, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"How did you end up bringing back a Death Eater?" Regulus asked, accompanied by a yawn.

"I sort of bumped into her," murmured Ron. "She was about to attack this Muggle boy, and I just sort of threw myself at her. We tumbled a bit, and she was about to use her wand on me, but I managed to knock her out."

"Well, if that's the only way you can think of getting yourself a girl," Regulus sneered.

"She doesn't look in very good shape," Ginny said sadly. "She's really young to be… you know."

"I don't think so," Ron muttered. "Malfoy was one himself, wasn't he?"

"One thing is for certain," said Remus, wiping his hands off with a towel. "We can't let her go now. Even if she can't give away Chadwick's location, if she knows that we're grouped up like this, that Harry is nearby…."

"Wait, we're taking her in?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, perhaps we should consider Parkinson's position," said Hermione. "I mean, Ginny's right. She is awfully young. Maybe… maybe she needs some help." She cleared her thought uncomfortably.

Ron and Harry looked suspiciously at Regulus, who shrugged.

Harry threw his hands up in the air. "All right, all right. Go find her a room. Go figure, he'd be right."

"Who'd be right?" Regulus asked, as the room started to empty.

Harry snorted.


	14. Pansy Parkinson

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (14)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's Notes:** Right, so, you see, my last beta went on a hiatus because she was busy with flowing owls, exploding dungbombs, feisty kneazles, and so on. In her absence, I had to find an entirely new beta that wasn't fond of magical animals or bought items from shops frequented by Fred and George. Therefore, you have Meucci Warlock to thank for this chapter.

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

-!-

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PANSY PARKINSON**

He was dreaming again, Harry knew it. He was in a hallway, doors to all the sides, reminding him of the Department of Mysteries. Mist was crawling across the floor, adding to the eerie feeling that was so familiar to him in these dreams. He rolled his eyes, feeling tired. "Cedric, enough with the show, get out here!" he yelled.

There was no response. Harry wondered why he was here instead of in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Had someone else come to talk with him? It was not strange; he had received visitors before in his dreams, although most of the time it had been Cedric. He briefly wondered if it was Dumbledore who was trying to contact him, but it had never happened before.

"Cedric!" Harry yelled again, as the lights above him flickered.

A tall man was walking towards him, although he was hard to recognise in the lighting. Harry was able to make out the greyness of the man's hair, a small, neat moustache, and a cloak that looked like it had never seen a wrinkle. As the man came closer, Harry blinked, unbelieving.

"Mr—Mr Crouch?" he asked.

"Hello, Mr Potter," the man said cheerfully.

-!-

Despite the warm evening, there seemed to be an annoying chill in the air. Mrs Weasley had come to make sure that Chadwick was clean (that is, that Kreacher was doing his job) and had sent all its inhabitants to waste time in the library while she supervised the rest of the cleaning. This caused the library to become somewhat crowded in both the number of bodies and the number of ill thoughts towards each other.

Pansy had been delighted to find out that Regulus was a Death Eater and, because she did not know that "was" meant "quite a while ago", was trying to see if they had been to any functions together. Hermione, who was keeping a close watch on them from behind her book, _So You Believed He Was Dead_, kept scowling in their direction. Ron, who noticed what had caught Hermione's attention, kept scowling in her direction.

Remus tried to ignore them all, and kept himself busy with some paperwork. Professor Trelawney was playing with a deck of cards, mumbling about clouds, toads and deaths, even though it seemed quite clear to everyone else that she was playing solitaire and not predicting the future.

The room was about to cave in from the tension when Harry entered, pulling off his jumper and shaking his hair to rid it of some left-over rain. He scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as they came across Pansy.

"Parkinson, come with me," he ordered.

Pansy looked like she was about to tell him where he could shove a large, inanimate object, but thought better of it and followed him out of the library. Remus and Regulus got up and went after her, leaving Hermione to ask Ron where everyone was going and why they weren't invited.

-!-

Pansy took advantage of the brief walk to Dumbledore's Room to observe Harry. He had changed drastically since the last time she had seen him. It looked like he had aged ten years since then. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in a while, and the shadows under his eyes were evident. He also seemed to eradiate raw power. If she hadn't known any better, she would say he seemed worthy of being a king.

Unfortunately, he was just a bitter boy.

Harry offered Pansy a chair. "What a gentleman," she said, unable to hide the smirk.

A sudden wave of nervousness overcame her as Harry stared down at her. "Pansy, as I told you last night, you are not allowed to leave this house," he began. "Even though you did not come to me voluntarily, I will have to count you as one of my own." There was a slight pause that made Pansy tense up. "I need a guarantee that you will not betray me," Harry said.

Pansy could not stop the little scoff from escaping her lips. She sat up straight, trying to remind herself that she was not one of Potter's little followers. "Are you joking? I would most certainly betray you. It's not on my to-do list to join you," she said, secretly delighted that her voice did not waver.

"Pansy, why did you even join the Death Eaters?" Harry asked. "Because of Malfoy? Where do they have him, on a throne or in a dungeon?"

Pansy glared at him. She didn't know why people saw Potter as their saviour. Did those around him really believe that he could save them? Protect them and lead them to victory? Did they not notice he had the same menacing aura as the Dark Lord?

"I want you to perform an Unbreakable Vow with me," said Harry.

Pansy knew she had about five seconds to provide him with an answer. In those five seconds she would have to process what was worth an hour of thinking, evaluating and deciding. Contrary to popular belief, she was not a stupid girl, far from it. An Unbreakable Vow, she knew, would tie Harry to her as much as she was tied to her. It was the true _quid pro quo_. If she denied him, he would have her locked up somewhere, and only until a member of his little team decided to get rid of her. If she agreed, she would be confined to the house, but she would get something in return.

The thing about magical vows was that the wording had to be perfect. Everything had to be considered and nothing left as assumed. A slight opening could undo the vow. Pansy knew that, and she wondered if Potter was aware. She could attach herself to Potter. She'd just have to wait for a time when an opening showed itself. Potter wasn't particularly bright. It couldn't take too long.

"Yes," she answered. "Alright. But you have to agree to my terms, too."

The three men in the room looked surprised that she agreed so quickly.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

Revenge, Pansy knew, was the ultimate want. Grudge doubled it.

"I want you to vow you will never be directly responsible for Draco's death," she said. She enjoyed how Harry's nostrils flamed, how he practically spat fire. Draco's death was inevitable, but at least it would not be by Potter's hand, and that was enough to make him churn for the rest of his life—and beyond, if she was lucky.

Harry looked like he wanted to order to have Pansy's head chopped off, but he nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. He grabbed Pansy's hand, grinning somewhat sadistically, as she squeezed it in a small battle, and said, as Remus took out his wand, "I, Harry Potter, vow to provide Pansy Parkinson with full protection, guaranteeing that I will never be _directly_ responsible for the death of Draco Malfoy."

Their hands were entwined with magic. Pansy exhaled sharply. She remembered reading how erotic people found the Unbreakable Vow, its wording close to the promises of a marriage. She took a deep breath and said, "I, Pansy Parkinson, vow to never betray Harry Potter."

She watched as the magic snaked up her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Her skin seemed to be overheating, and her legs were trembling slightly. If it weren't for the fact that she was already sitting, she was quite sure she would have collapsed. It was not painful, but delightful, and it reminded her of Draco tickling her skin with a feather. She did not fail to notice that Potter's breath was coming in low gasps, and his usually pale skin looked flushed. For a brief moment she felt physically attracted to him, and wondered if it was a side effect of the Vow.

They held hands for a few seconds before Remus dropped his wand. Pansy wondered why Harry wasn't letting go, and then she noticed a beautiful red phoenix appear out of nowhere. It flew towards her, and she screamed as it impaled her chest, exiting through her back, and leaving behind a single red feather on the floor.

Pansy gasped in pain, as a burning sensation prickled her skin. "_You marked me_?" she screeched.

"Those three who can cause my downfall must be signed to remember," Harry said sharply.

As he left, Pansy turned to Remus. "You think he's your hero?" she demanded. "You say that the Dark Lord marks us as cattle, eh? You're all hypocrites, you hear me? You insult my Lord, calling him insane and blood-thirsty and a tyrant. What do you think your precious little boy is? What would Dumbledore say about this?"

It frightened her that Remus didn't answer.

-!-

Regulus had never been an oversensitive person, but as he kissed Hermione he could swear that he could _feel_ the magic pulsing in her. It was like being a vampire and finding young blood. The power called to him. He knew he was a wizard—only from the best blood—and as he kissed Hermione he felt as if generations of ascendants were yelling at him to come home. It was invigorating, like drinking from the fountain of youth.

"Regulus," gasped Hermione, pulling back. He had broken her lip.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. He had forgotten himself. It was happening a lot lately.

"Are you feeling well?" Hermione asked. She looked a bit pink. He liked that.

"Just a bit carried away," Regulus answered, winking for her benefit. He lied on the bed, stretching his arms. "So what's Pansy up to?"

Hermione frowned, and he immediately regretted asking. "I don't know," Hermione said tightly. "I think she's staying in her room. I wonder what happened with Harry. You were there. Why won't you tell me?"

"Not my place, princess." Regulus sat up and smiled. Deciding it was best to talk about other things, he added, "Potter knows."

"Knows what?" Hermione began to tidy her clothes, trying to avoid the wrinkles.

"About you and me. I think Weasley knows, too," Regulus explained.

Hermione's face suddenly twisted into an expression of complete misery. "They can't," she said. "If they did, I'd have heard it already."

Regulus shrugged. "Trust me, I've been under such a watch by Potter before. And Weasley's waiting to pounce, but he knows how to keep his temper in check."

"Ron, take care of his temper? He's never been able to keep calm before." Hermione frowned. "That's why he'd make such a rotten—"

Regulus grinned slyly. "Is the little princess jealous that she wasn't chosen as Secret-Keeper?" he teased.

"Don't be stupid," muttered Hermione. "Obviously Harry would choose Ron. They're best friends and—" She faltered as Regulus gave her a knowing look. "I thought it'd be Remus," she admitted. "Never Ron."

"I told you, Weasley's become quite a man since I've arrived. I think he can handle it," Regulus assured her. "And you, if I know anything about it, have become quite a lady."

Regulus grinned as he kissed Hermione. He liked the feel of magic.

-!-

Patience Longbottom once stated that the only reason why the Wizarding world managed to function properly was because nobody expected it to function in the first place. Magic, even though it had its laws, was confusing and unpredictable until some intelligent (intelligent meaning both mad and lucky) managed to work out the railroad on which magic ran—and that was only until the next train stop. Magic was not predictable, mostly because, like the history in which it floated, it had changed—weakened, strengthened, and then weakened again—constantly until it settled, hibernating until the following dozen centuries or so. This was why terms such as "ancient magic", "old magic", "really old magic", "modern magic" and "future magic" were constantly discussed in Magical Forums around the world, causing headaches until Firewhiskey was ordered.

Still, despite all of this, magic was quite clear on what it could do and what it could not do.

And, Hermione knew, magic could not bring back a person from the dead—

Except!

Voldemort had come back through Horcruxes.

Hester Addams, circa 1850, had been able to come back by some very complicated organ transplants and dark magic.

And, if you followed religion, Jesus Christ had decided to take a walk after he had been pronounced dead.

The last case aside, the history of magic clearly stated that one could not relive from death, but you could cheat death in the first place. So how had Regulus cheated death?

If he had even died in the first place.

This was something that troubled Hermione, and she was sure that it had occurred to some of the others. Had Regulus really been dead? It was clear that there was no funeral—at least not one with a body. There was no real proof that he had died, except a death certificate that could have been faked in a hundred ways.

But if he hadn't died, where had he been all this time? Why did he still look like a day hadn't passed since 1981?

Magic. Youth spells, potions, charms, it wasn't hard to do. But Regulus couldn't perform magic, that was fact. Tests had been done on him, and not a single bell went off when it came to his magical ability, as he so kindly moaned about night and day.

It could be a trick. A careful trap planned by Voldemort. Regulus might not even be Regulus, but someone else with a strong charm placed upon him. With the death of Sirius, Voldemort might have thought that sending Regulus would strike Harry's confidence.

Except _they_—stupid and young and angry—had summoned Regulus. Regulus had put that spell there.

"Who did he even expect to find it there?" Tonks had asked that night.

Kreacher, probably, thought Hermione. She still fought over the argument that a spell could not be recited like a poem, as though it were an enchantment, a riddle, a—

Riddle.

Hermione stopped breathing. Ancient magic, so powerful, so deceiving, almost extinct, and yet—

Voldemort, Dumbledore, Lily Potter; people had been able to perform it. Not to mention countless others who had the strength and determination. It wasn't easy, it could kill the weak and corrupt the strong, but it was still there, lying low, waiting until the mountain that was history would make it the main source and leave behind wands and single words that helped channel it.

_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son._

_Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master._

_Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._

Harry had muttered it so many times, awake, asleep, twitching, remembering. It had killed Cedric and almost killed Harry; it had brought Voldemort back to a corporeal form.

Ancient magic.

Recited, long, sadistically poetic.

Just like the note Regulus had left before his death.

Hermione stood up so fast she banged her knee on the table, tipping off a cup and saucer.

The words, the ingredients, it was ancient magic. The basis was there, and yet—

Life after death was not an option.

-!-

"I've told you already! The Death Eaters must go!" Bartemius Crouch screeched angrily.

"Former Death Eaters," Harry corrected. "And I've marked them. They can't betray me."

"They don't need to," hissed Crouch. "They just have to be there for it to happen."

"I gave them my word," Harry said. He was getting a headache. "I will not turn them out. It'd be dangerous."

Crouch laughed. It was cruel and seemed to echo off the walls. "I'm not telling you to turn them out, boy. They need to be taken care of."

Harry was left alone and the lights flickered off.

"Our secrets, Potter," said Crouch's voice, "come from our past. The thing is, we always think of our past as having happened a very long time ago when, in fact, it just happened a few minutes, a few days, a few weeks ago."


	15. The Mark of the Phoenix

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (15)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** Ah, we're working faster now. Once again, this chapter was brought to you by Meucci Warlock. Well, you know, _partly_. I do most of the work. Honest.

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

**Additionally:** I wrote this Ron/Pansy fic, yes? And it's, like, an AU of this fic… which, actually, _is_ a bit strange, because this fic is an AU, but, you know, _fanfiction_. Eventually I'll host it on Fiction Alley. I just need to bribe someone into beta-ing.

-!-

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE MARK OF THE PHOENIX

Because Pansy refused to come out of her room and Regulus was taking in a nap, lunch was to be shared between Harry, Ron and Hermione for the first time in a long time. It was rare for the trio to be able to spend time together without Regulus's remarks or Trelawney's usual blabbering, so this lunch time was deemed a special occasion. Ron had even produced a bottle of wine that had been carefully hidden from Trelawney.

Hermione decided that this would be the best moment to share her thoughts about Regulus and his spell. She waited for everyone to sit down, admiring all the hard work Dobby had gone to in making the meal. Ron uncorked the wine, poured helpful quantities into their glasses, and smiled as they drank a toast to health, friendship and a long life without regrets. Or, as Ron put it, a life with lots and lots of sex.

_Boys_, thought Hermione fondly.

When they were midway through the meal, Hermione found it the best moment to begin. "There's something I think you should know," she began.

Harry and Ron stopped their playful Quidditch banter and gave her their full attention.

Hermione continued. "It's about—"

"Harry Potter, sir, Arthur Weasley is at the door." The whip-like sound that crackled through the air indicated Dobby's presence, bowing obediently, and smiling graciously at Harry.

He says it's urgent and you must come."

Harry turned to look at Hermione. "Can it wait?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said. "Do you want us to come with you?"

Harry shook his head, took a last bite of his lunch, and followed Dobby to the front door.

That had been four hours ago, and Harry had not returned.

Hermione and Ron had gathered in the living room, trying to entertain themselves with bits of conversation. Regulus was sitting by the fireplace, contently reading a book, laughing every so often at one of the passages. His legs were draped over the arm of the chair, and every few minutes he'd twitch about, trying to get comfortable.

Hermione could not help but feel anxious. They hadn't heard a word from anyone since Mr Weasley had stopped by to whisk Harry away. Perhaps Harry had run into some sort of danger? She felt tempted to contact an Order member, and wondered if she was exaggerating things.

"There's an owl at the window," observed Ron.

Hermione glanced over and saw a small owl pecking furiously at the glass. She got up and opened the window, startled as the owl zoomed past her ear. It fluttered around the room, finally dropping a carefully wrapped newspaper onto Regulus's lap. It hooted annoyingly and left the room.

"It's the _Daily Prophet_," Regulus said, as he carefully unfolded it. "Odd, this is a second issue for today."

Hermione suddenly felt faint. A second issue of the paper could only mean something horrible had happened. Didn't they say bad news travelled fast? When Regulus held up the papers, her worries were confirmed.

There, on the front page, in a very large image and wearing his Hogwarts robes, was Neville Longbottom.

"Regulus, please read it!" Hermione said, leaning over his shoulder. Ron, too, had moved in closer, and was looking pale.

Regulus quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed. "Earlier today the Longbottom Residence was attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers in broad daylight. The Longbottoms are well known for their ancient bloodline and support of the Right Side. Furthermore, two of the Longbottoms, Frank and Alice, formerly Aurors, are currently in St. Mungo's after bravely standing up to the Wrong Side many years back. There is only one survivor from the attack, their son Neville, who is currently seeking treatment in the intensive care unit in the same establishment. However, Healers believe that the young boy does not have much of a fighting chance, and will probably take a turn for the worse. It continues page five."

Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble and her eyes begin to water. "Poor Neville!" she exclaimed.

"That must have been why they called Harry," Ron said. He awkwardly patted Hermione on the arm. "Cheer up, Hermione. I'm sure Neville will get through this. I mean, he's got tough skin, right?"

"This is just horrible! Why do people we know have to die?" Hermione's resolve finally broke down, and she had a hard time fighting the tears back. "It's not fair!"

Regulus wasn't very successful in getting her to stop crying, and Ron had to go and get some tissues. It seemed forever until the front door creaked opened, and only when Harry's voice echoed in the hallway did Hermione try to stop her hiccupping and tears. She was having a hard time.

"Harry, we read the news," Ron said, as he pulled Hermione along. "Horrible stuff about Nev—Oh, hi, Neville." He came to a sudden stop, and stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his red hair with a sloppy grin.

Hermione almost choked on her tears.

Standing before them, looking quite alive, was Neville Longbottom. "Er, 'ullo," he said shyly. He was wearing clothes that looked like they could do with a good wash, and his general appearance was quite changed from the last time Hermione saw him at school. He looked thinner, as if he hadn't been fed properly in a while, and his skin had taken on a rather unfetching tinge of yellow. And, just like most people these days, he looked worn out from stress.

"Definitely made out of tough skin," said Regulus, approvingly.

"Neville will be staying with us for a while," Harry said. "Except we've sort of run out of rooms, so Ron, you'll have to share."

"No problem," Ron said gallantly. "Er, food, right? Yes! Mum always says food cures all ills. You look like you could use plenty of it, Neville."

"But we read in the _Prophet_ that Neville was—was about to _die_!" Hermione said. She hugged Neville tightly. "Not that we aren't happy to see you!"

Harry grinned. "Well, the Order doesn't think that the attack on Neville was random, so we're keeping him low profile for a bit. He's suppose to be undergoing treatment in St. Mungo's for a few days, and then we'll decide if he survived it or not." Harry laughed uncomfortably at the thought.

Pansy, who was descending the stairs, stopped short as she saw the crowd gathered. "Oh, bother, not another one of you," she said, a hint of disgust in her tone.

"Oh, it's you," said Neville, matching her tone. "Harry did mention that he was having a bit of a pest problem."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she could see that Harry and Ron were just as surprised that Neville had managed to inject that much cruelty into his tone. Even Pansy looked impressed.

"Potter," she said, turning her attention elsewhere. "I have a sudden… burn that won't go away. I don't suppose you have a balm I could borrow?" She seemed to be staring a hole into his forehead.

"Is that a code for sex?" Regulus asked. "Because it's quite awful."

"Shut up, Regulus," snapped Harry, scratching as his scar and looking tired. "I'll find you something, Parkinson. You're welcome to join us for a late supper."

Pansy snorted and stormed back to her room.

Hermione led Neville into the kitchen. "You must see the garden! I think you might enjoy it. And there's a patch that is currently bare. Maybe you'll want to work on it while you're here?" she said cheerily.

Harry and Ron trailed behind. "The burn really is a pain in the arse, Harry," Ron whispered, and Harry rolled his eyes.

-!-

Harry was having a hard time getting to sleep. He was painfully aware that his house had turned into a motel for the helpless and homeless, and he couldn't help but think of all the warnings the people who plagued his dreams had given him. And, amongst those worries, was Regulus.

Crouch wanted Regulus dead. Crouch, Cedric, even the many of the members of the Order, they all wanted Regulus gone. Could he be that much of a threat?

Did Harry have to kill Regulus? How would Hermione react? But he couldn't kill Regulus; he had Vowed protection, safety.

He needed to find Voldemort's next Horcrux. The Cup; it had to be somewhere right under their noses. But Dumbledore hadn't left them any clues. His pensieves were confusing, undecipherable. The portraits knew nothing, and not even McGonagall had been told everything.

Harry opened his eyes, and got out of bed. He reached over for the jar that lay on his table, a large wad of paper stuffed in the mouth to stop Lucius Malfoy's memories from leaking. It was time to delve deeper, to see what secrets Malfoy hid. Harry took out the make-shift stopper, watching as the grey mist swirled in a sort of dance. He focused, taking a deep breath, as he was pulled in.

It was dark. And hot, but mostly dark.

Harry found himself in a large room. There seemed to be a lack of air, and he figured it must be because of the number of people around him. The windows had been covered in thick curtains, and only a few candles had been lit, giving the people the appearance of being nothing but mere shadows.

"You are all fools," a voice said, echoing off the walls.

It was Voldemort's voice. Even though Harry couldn't see him, he could recognize the voice. Harry moved towards the front of the room, until he could make out a large throne. Sitting upon it was Voldemort, flanked by Lucius Malfoy on one side and another person, hidden in the folds of his robes, on the other. Voldemort continued to speak, mostly insulting his followers, but Harry took the time to look around him. He only recognized a few faces, including Snape's, which sent a new rush of anger through his body.

Voldemort finally ordered his Death Eaters to leave. "Lucius, stay behind," he added.

Harry placed himself directly in front of Voldemort, beside Lucius who had turned to bow. The cloaked figure stayed too, shaking slightly in the shadows.

"I would like you to meet someone," said Voldemort. "Wormtail."

Harry couldn't help let out a gasp of surprise as Wormtail came out of the shadows, throwing off the cloak that had covered him. He felt his stomach tangle in knots, and he clenched his fists, trying to calm himself down. This was just a memory; there was nothing he could do. And, yet, he would have liked nothing more than to reach out and punch the man.

"Potter's lapdog?" Malfoy asked, looking shocked. "But Master, he's—"

"Decided we're best for his health," Voldemort said pleasantly. "Isn't that right, Wormtail?"

"Y—yes, Master," Wormtail muttered.

"Wormtail is quite an intelligent little lapdog, Lucius. He already has quite a decent plan set up to deliver the Potters to us." Voldemort laughed. "I do so love a re-enactment of Judas, don't you?"

Lucius cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "My Lord, about the Potters. Don't you think it's a waste of time to go after them?"

"A waste of time?" repeated Voldemort dangerously.

Harry watched with interest as Lucius practically shrank under Voldemort's glare. "They're under Dumbledore's protection, My Lord," he tried.

Voldemort laughed loudly as though he and Malfoy had just shared a joke. "Soon even Dumbledore will fear me." Lucius looked like he was about to put his foot in his mouth when Voldemort lifted a hand. "Dear me, it seems as though we have a guest."

For a moment Harry panicked. And then Voldemort said, "Regulus, do come in. You seem to have impeccable timing, as always."

Harry turned around as the large entrance door squeaked open and Regulus stumbled in, looking guilty like he had just been caught red handed.

There was no physical difference in this Regulus and the one Harry knew—except that, and he didn't know how exactly, this Regulus seemed more _alive_. It wasn't like he was glowing or anything obvious, but Harry just seemed to see Regulus and think, "So this was him alive."

"Regulus has quite the knack for being present at conversations that don't concern him," Voldemort said to Lucius.

"I—I just wanted to let you know that Felix and Barnaby haven't returned," Regulus said, desperately trying to prevent his voice from breaking.

"Did you?" said Voldemort sweetly. "Lucius, would you please allow me and the young Black a bit of privacy."

Harry was only aware that Regulus was about to feel a lot of pain as Lucius scampered out of the room, closing the memory off.

-!-

Neville's arrival bought an entirely new sort of busy in Chadwick. Neville and the Order frequently went to the Longbottom house, searching through the rubble and trying to find information about the raid. In a way, Hermione supposed it helped Neville move on.

Despite this, it was an obstacle to catching Harry and Ron alone, and before Hermione knew it, she had (perhaps magically) forgotten about it, and was spending her time doing other things. On one of these occasions, she found herself in Regulus's bedroom, with Regulus on top of her, looking pleased with himself.

"You are such a boy!" she scolded.

"As opposed to?" Regulus asked.

"A _man_," sniped Hermione, hitting him with a pillow, although she couldn't seem to help the smile that spread across her face. "Get off. If anyone walked in they'd get an entirely wrong picture about this—and—why are you taking off your shirt?"

Regulus sighed dramatically and stopped on the third button. "Well, Miss Granger, let me explain something you parents should have told you about. When a man and a woman are quite fond of each other, they tend to have a lot of fun in the bedroom."

"You don't love me," Hermione said. It wasn't said in surprise or question, but as a statement; a reassuring of the facts.

"No, I don't," Regulus said earnestly.

"Then I don't want to—what is that?" Hermione was staring intently at Regulus's chest, and her look wasn't one of desire.

Regulus was momentarily confused before it dawned on him. He quickly adjusted his shirt, trying to cover up the phoenix that had been burned into his skin. "A rash. I think I ate something that caused an allergy. Molly had a look, though. Nothing a bit of cream won't take—oi."

Hermione had managed to push him off, and was demanding to see his chest. "That didn't look like a rash! Did you cut yourself?"

Even though Harry had never told Regulus that he couldn't show off the mark of the phoenix on his chest, he had more or less figured that it wasn't something to go parading off—especially not to Hermione.

This was only confirmed as he allowed Hermione to see him, and saw her usually pretty face twist into one of utter horror and disgust.

"Who—how—" For once she seemed to be speechless. She gaped at him, demanding answers, but found herself unable to ask the proper questions. "Please tell me it wasn't Harry," she finally said.

Regulus briefly wondered if he should come up with a lie to protect Harry. It took him a very short time to decide he owed Harry nothing. He kept silent, knowing it would be answer enough.

The look of absolute horror would not leave Hermione's features. She did, however, stop gaping, and march out of the room, leaving Regulus on the bed with his shirt off.

Because of unusually bad luck, Harry happened to be arriving home, and was just on the way to his room as Hermione stormed out of Regulus's. Unfortunately for Harry, he thought Regulus had been the cause of her anger, and stopped Hermione to ask her what was wrong.

"Did you do this to him?" Hermione demanded, as Regulus came out of the room. She did not wait for Harry to answer. "Harry, have you gone insane? How did you even do this? Does Remus know?"

Hermione's screeching had been enough to bring out Ron and Pansy from their rooms. Not to mention one startled Trelawney who had predicted they were about to become the victims of an earthquake. Neville, who had arrived with Harry, tactfully stood behind a potted plant.

What's going on here?" Ron demanded. "Have you all gone nutters? Why isn't Black wearing his shirt?"

"Did you know Harry marked Regulus?" Hermione asked, turning on Ron.

Ron's eyes widened and he stared at Harry. Harry was looking livid.

Pansy let out a loud laugh. "Your sidekicks didn't know, Potter? They didn't know you brand yours just like the Dark Lord brands his? What a hypocrite you are, Potter!" She lowered the collar of her shirt, not looking the least bit embarrassed at showing off most of her breast. Hermione's mouth dropped open again opened as she saw the identical phoenix mark. "Want to know a little secret, Granger?" Pansy said sweetly.

"Shut up, Parkinson," Harry ordered.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione looked like she was about to cry.

"When I was marked, Potter said I was the third," Pansy continued, not afraid intimidated by the appearance of Harry's wand. "Now, if Regulus is one, and I'm one, well, I'm sure a smart Mudblood like you can do the math."

Hermione immediately turned to look at Neville. Neville, who had paled considerably, shook his head in the negative.

"Who's the third person, Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"I think," said Ron, raising his voice above everyone else's, "that Parkinson should return to her room. As, perhaps, should Black. I think that I will speak privately with Hermione in the library." He gently grabbed Hermione by the elbow, and, much against her will, led her away.

"Why are they marked, Ron? Why? It's not to call them; they don't need to be called." Hermione looked ill, and Ron did not blame her.

"They were marked to remind them of their loyalty," Ron said softly. "Harry had them marked to remind them which side currently held their… lives."

"He's gone mad. Harry's gone completely—"

"Harry has become a leader of a band that has been betrayed twice before," Ron said firmly. "Hermione, I know it may seem beastly to you, but think about Harry. Twice have the people he loved been killed by traitors. Can you really blame him?"

It dawned on Hermione, as Ron spoke, who the third person might be.

"Please take off your shirt," she said.

Ron looked at her curiously, but obliged. Hermione let out of sigh of relief as she saw no mark on his chest. "I'm sorry, but you're his Secret Keeper, so I thought…."

Ron smiled as she hugged him. "Please understand him, Hermione," he begged.

Hermione nodded, looking a bit teary-eyed. "I don't think I can understand this," she said earnestly. "But if you truly think that this entire… thing is within reason, then I won't object, and I won't press the matter." She gave Ron a kiss on the cheek, and left the library.

It was a pity she never turned around, for she would have seen the mark of the phoenix nestled on Ron's left shoulder blade.


	16. Solutions

**Title: **Several Miles from the Sun (16)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** Do I ever thank people for their reviews? Because, seriously, a little ray of sunshine. :o) Chapter betaed by Meucci Warlock, who needs to understand that when I say "jump", he must ask "how high?" Alas, men.

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

-!-

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: SOLUTIONS

"Can you see it?" someone asked.

Harry didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Cedric or Mr Crouch or any of the other people who haunted him in his dreams.

"Can you see it?" the voice repeated.

There was nothing to see. Everything around him was dark. It wasn't like night time, but more like the darkness in a tunnel when you're standing there and don't have a torch.

"Can you see it?"

"No," he answered, weakly, unsure. What was he meant to see?

"We are all judged eventually, Harry Potter. How will you be judged?" The voice was menacing. It sounded omnipotent, and Harry didn't like that.

"Would you consider yourself unlike your worst enemy, Harry Potter?" the voice continued.

Harry understood what this was about. Parkinson's words had hit him in the heart; Hermione's fear towards him had caused it to burst. "The end justifies the means," he said stubbornly.

"And what is the end? Can you see it?"

"The end is peace, freedom, a life without fear," Harry said firmly. He believed in it. He could help accomplish it. _The end justifies the means_.

"Is the road to peace through violence?" The voice was mocking him.

Harry didn't reply. He wasn't sure there was an appropriate answer.

"Your friends fear you, but your enemies don't. Can you accomplish anything, Hodur?"

Harry was surprised at the title, but the scene had ended. He was no longer floating in darkness, but sitting on a bench in a park. Next to him was a pale—transparent, even—figure; feminine, delicate, in a Victorian-era dress, holding a fan, and smiling as though she were the Mona Lisa.

"My Lady," Harry said, bowing his head, "thank you _ever_ so much for that version of A Christmas Carol." He could not help the sarcasm in his voice.

The Grey Lady, patroness of the house of Ravenclaw, fanned herself. She was very petite in size, her back straight, her posture prim. In a way, she reminded Harry of what a younger Professor McGonagall might have been like. "We often get mixed up on the roads of life, Gryffindor," she said. "It's our friends that help us find the right way home."

"I'm doing the right thing," Harry said strongly. "No matter what anyone says, I know I am. This is the only way. We have been betrayed twice. They say third time's the charm."

"Yet you mark your friends," the Grey Lady observed.

"Neither Regulus nor Parkinson are my friends," Harry said testily.

"Regulus has shown no threat to you." There was a pause as the Grey Lady closed her fan. "And then there's Ronald. Is he not your friend?"

"My best friend," Harry answered.

"But you mark him like… No, not like the others. You mark him from behind." The Grey Lady giggled girlishly. "I understand the symbolism. You are afraid he will stab you in the back. Are you that lost, my boy, that you must distrust even your own brother?"

"Ron understood. If he understood, why can't anyone else?" Harry demanded.

"Ronald is destined for great things. He was not born a leader, but certainly destined for great things." The Grey Lady stood up. "I must be leaving. If they find out I'm in the courtyard with a man…"

Harry ignored the last comment. It was not uncommon for the people in his dreams to have brief fits, and forget where they were, or who they were with. Not to mention the fact that they were no longer part of the realm of the living.

"Why did it call me Hodur?" Harry asked.

The Grey Lady stopped walking, looking at ease again. "I do not know Hodur," she said. "But, it doesn't matter if I know him. The question is, do you?"

She left, and Harry found himself alone in the park. Trelawney had often said that Harry alone could not win this battle. He was missing a piece in his set. Was it Regulus? Was it Pansy? Was it someone who had escaped his view?

It was there, standing in the middle of a place he had never physically visited, that Harry suddenly realized something.

He saw that he would be alone for the rest of his life.

He saw that he would never truly see.

He wondered what it all meant.

-!-

Chadwick seemed to be enveloped in magic. Hermione had felt it from the very beginning, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Sometimes the magic seemed to fight against its inhabitants, and sometimes it settled like a blanket of dust, allowing them to move freely.

Today it had settled, and Hermione remembered. It came to her like a sudden gust of wind, keywords here and there, until she wondered how she could have forgotten about it in the first place.

Regulus's spell was similar to the one Voldemort had created to regain his physical self, Hermione explained. Words that would spiral on, a promise of equivalent trade, characteristics of ancient magic that left traces behind. Poisonous traces that could never be eliminated.

But how?

"How could Regulus come back so _perfect_?" Hermione asked.

Ron and Harry, now up to date, albeit somewhat confused, shrugged.

"He isn't greater than Voldemort," Ron said.

"We underestimated him once," Hermione argued. "We never thought he'd be capable of coming back to life."

"Could he have been frozen?" Harry asked. "I mean, if he died, to have frozen his body, and…" Even he looked confused at the concept.

"If he died, he died, Harry. I'm almost certain there were no Horcruxes involved." Hermione stopped pacing around the room. "We need to ask him. We need to know. This is powerful magic. If he really had the abilities to accomplish it—"

"Except he came back without magic," interrupted Harry.

"That might be his equivalent trade," Hermione said. "He had to give something in order to come back. For him, for any witch or wizard really, magic is quite a lot to lose."

"Especially when you're one of Voldemort's henchmen," Ron agreed.

Harry nodded. "I'll have a talk with him, then. Perhaps with this information he won't back away."

Ron grinned. Hermione got up to leave, and then sat down again. "Harry," she began nervously, "I've been thinking. Voldemort has been leaving Horcruxes in places that were meaningful to him, most of them a recollection of bad memories. He left one where his mother grew up, and we thought he might leave something behind at his father's. Well, what if we were looking in the wrong place? What if he didn't leave it at the place where his father was, but instead where his father _is_."

"The grave site?" Harry asked, his eyes widening.

-!-

Regulus was a coward.

He was a lap-dog, not a leader. Never a leader.

He was also running. His legs hurt, his lungs were ready to burst, and he was quite sure that he had lost a shoe on the way.

Could a sinner redeem himself with one good task?

He kept running. It should have been raining; it should have been night time. Instead it was only a bit past noon, and the sun was making him sweat even harder.

His parents had always preached against the betrayal of family. You _never_ betrayed family. Blood was thicker than water.

He stopped thinking. He ran faster. He was half-aware he was in a Muggle neighbourhood where the houses weren't carefully concealed from non-magical eyes. It disgusted him and scared him at the same time.

He reached a house, a large house with a red front door and a general feeling of _niceness_. He knocked loudly, urgently. "Sirius! Sirius!"

It seemed to take forever before the front door opened.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was angry, disgusted. His own brother glared down at him with contempt.

"I must tell you something! Please let me in! It's important. It's about—it's about—"

Sirius was not letting him go inside. Sirius wasn't even budging. Regulus could only see a bit inside the house. He was quite sure someone else was there; probably Remus.

"What is it?" Sirius demanded. "Look at you. Having fun with your friends, eh?" The tone was malicious.

Regulus was aware that he was crying. "Please! I need to warn you. He—He knows things. You're all—"

"Don't speak of him here!" Sirius barked. "How are you come here and snivel at my door? Why don't you go back to Mother, you piece of—"

The door was slammed in his face. Regulus could hear Remus trying to reason with Sirius. Remus had always pitied the weak.

Regulus stood there, incredulous. He felt the rage wash over him. Had he really tried to redeem himself to that ungrateful bastard? Had he gone through all this trouble to have a door slammed in his face?

He did not think again of knocking. He walked away, instead.

He was almost home when two figures in black robes intercepted him.

"You went to see your brother," one said. Not a question, a statement.

Regulus understood. He had signed his death sentence. Should he beg for mercy? Should he ask for forgiveness? Should he rely on his intelligence to survive?

"You are a fool," the second figure said.

They raised their wands, but he left his in his pocket. He didn't feel like struggling; he knew they were stronger than him. He had lost a fight. He had risked everything and lost.

It happened. That was life.

As Regulus died, he realised he had been brave for the first time in his life.

-!-

Harry had tried to come up with a plan of attack when it came to questioning Regulus. In truth, he saw, they had put off the problem long enough. They had allowed Regulus to live calmly under Chadwick's roof, not pressuring him to share his secrets. But that time of peace had ended, and now Harry wanted answers. He felt that the holiday was over; the battle was heating up.

Regulus had been staring at the ceiling when Harry entered his room. "May I help you?" he said cheerfully.

Harry had a sudden feeling of trespassing; a brief belief that _he_ didn't belong there, and that he was intruding on Regulus's property. He tried to shake it off, but there was a certain uneasiness inside of him that wouldn't leave.

Harry did not waste time. He quickly explained Hermione's hypothesis and questions, and then sat on the edge of the bed. "Answer us," he said.

Regulus laughed. It was a sort of soothing laugh, like the one of a child who had realised he won't be punished, but is loved instead. It sounded strange to Harry's ears. When Regulus stopped, he sat up properly, and stared Harry in the eye.

"Would you really like to know?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry, fidgeting slightly.

Regulus seemed to think it over. "Is it necessary that Weasley and Hermione know?" He added, "Because, you know, it's not really as big and important as you think it is. They say ancient magic is fifty percent luck and fifty percent stupidity."

Harry considered the request. "Tell me, and then I'll see who I choose to divulge the information to."

Regulus gave him a look that clearly said, _You'll tell them, I know_, but did not seem to want to argue. "All, right," he finally said, "but listen well, because I don't think I shall ever repeat myself."

Harry nodded and got comfortable. Something told him a long story was waiting.

-!-

Regulus had long since turned to the Death Eaters, and had been a follower of Voldemort's. He was aware of his brother's involvement with Dumbledore, but then again, Sirius also knew of Regulus's circle. Regulus, however, was filled with misery.

He hadn't always felt like that—like there was a hole inside of him that couldn't be filled. To be honest, he had been _happy_ to join Voldemort. His initiation had been genius. He, alongside other boys his age, had kidnapped the Minister's daughter herself, brought her to Voldemort, tortured her, and killed her. It had been _fun_. Fun to see the way his Lord looked pleased, nodded, and told them they were a part of something bigger.

It hadn't been difficult for Regulus to move amongst the ranks, either. He was an obedient lad, and, with Lucius as his sponsor, quickly became a favourite amongst the elder Death Eaters. When others hesitated to participate in Lord Voldemort's plans, Regulus would quickly volunteer.

Maybe he had no heart at the time, but it was something he had enjoyed doing. He felt proud to be a Death Eater, proud that the family name of Black had not been completely smudged when Sirius had turned out to be a goody-goody. He finally knew what it felt like to be important, to be _feared_.

But then the rug was pulled from under him.

He had messed up on one of the missions. He had been sent alone to murder an important Auror who had information regarding some of the meetings of the Death Eaters. The Auror had proven to be stronger than him, and Regulus had barely made it out alive.

Lord Voldemort was far from pleased. "It pains me that I have to dispatch someone else to finish your task, Regulus," he said lazily.

And then there was pain. It shot up Regulus's spine, and for a minute he was quite sure his skin was on fire. His insides felt as thought they were undergoing electric shock, and he thought he might pass out.

For ten long seconds. Then it stopped.

It didn't end there. It seemed almost periodically that Regulus had to suffer the Cruciatus Curse, even if, in some moments, he thought he didn't deserve it. Lord Voldemort seemed to get angry over anything, and he enjoyed putting his own followers through pain to remind them who they had to bow to. And, it only seemed that the higher Regulus ranked, the more likely he would be subject to punishment.

Soon enough Regulus began to understand that he was not invincible—he, too, could be on the wrong side of the wand.

On one occasion he had actually been whipped, and by Bellatrix no less.

Furious, _betrayed_, Regulus went to mope to Narcissa.

"I can't believe the woman who babysat me, _punished_ me as though I were still a child!" he complained as Narcissa tried to soothe his wounded back.

Narcissa tactfully kept quiet.

"I didn't even do anything wrong!" Regulus spat. "I wasn't the one in charge of the mission. It wasn't my fault we calculated wrong. Lucius didn't even defend me! He actually placed all of the blame on me!"

"I'm sure he had his reasons," Narcissa said softly.

Regulus turned around so he could look at her. "Oh, yeah? Perhaps because he's _afraid_ of our Lord? Well, guess what! I didn't see 'constant punishment' in the pamphlet when good old Lucius said, 'Join us, we have loads of fun!'" he said angrily.

"The Dark Lord only gives you what you deserve," Narcissa said sternly. "Perhaps you're not working hard enough."

Regulus snorted and turned back on his stomach. "_I_ work plenty, but nobody ever gives me credit."

"You sound like a spoiled little boy," Narcissa chided softly. She patted his back; her work done. "Let the cream cool a bit before you put your shirt back on."

"The Dark Lord doesn't trust me, and I don't know how to prove myself," Regulus whispered miserably.

Narcissa smiled. "It's hard, isn't it? It took Lucius quite some time before he was able to enter the Inner Circle, even with all the money the Malfoys and the Blacks have." She looked quite proud of her husband. "And our Lord really does trust Lucius. Just the other day Lucius brought home a book, which is apparently very important to Him. We're supposed to guard it with our li—" Narcissa trailed off uncomfortably. "I don't know if I was supposed to share that with you."

Regulus grinned. "Don't worry. We're family, right?"

"Please don't tell anyone," Narcissa begged. "Lucius said it was meant to be kept secret. If Lucius stays in His good graces, we may be able to secure a place for Draco among the High Ranks."

"What's a Draco?" Regulus asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Draco is the name I'm going to give our son when he is eventually born," said Narcissa. "I think it's a lovely name!"

"What a girly name! You should name him something manly like Achilles or Hercules," Regulus teased.

Narcissa swatted at him. "I think you can go home now. Remember, family secret, okay?"

Regulus gave her a peck on the cheek. He remembered their childhood moments; Being dragged to her tea parties, her showing him around Hogwarts when Sirius wouldn't, her taking care of him when he got into accidents. For some reason his chest gave a little twinge of pain, as he said, "Family secret, cousin."

Unfortunately for Narcissa, Regulus had already been spending the last two months trying to find a way to betray the Dark Lord. He was too cowardly to continue enduring pain in order to accomplish "better things".

-!-

**Final notes: **In future chapters: Regulus keeps providing Harry with his past, Hodur comes to light, Horcruxes, and Ginny's feeling a little under the weather.


	17. The Master Plan

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (17)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Confession:** I wrote about three versions of this chapter. None of them worked. I kept sending them to the beta, and he kept sending them back with gigantic red marks. Eventually I decided to drop working on this, and… you know, focus on _real life_. So I sent the last version of this chapter and my goals to my beta, and, _surprise, surprise_, he wrote this for you all. My structure, maybe, but his magic. If you like this too much, well… then, you're all screwed, because I will not sacrifice my own ego for his, and I refuse to give him anything else to write.

**Author's notes:** Although the time-line is a bit off, all the names used for the Black family here were taking from the Black Family Tree that J.K. Rowling auctioned off. You know, the one you can find in the HP Lexicon.

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

-!-

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE MASTER PLAN

**November, 1979**

_Luck_, someone once said, _is an excuse for the failed_.

Perhaps it was because he was a Black. Perhaps it was because he'd always had a good life. Perhaps it was because he'd always been able to tip the odds his way. For whatever reason, Regulus Black believed strongly in his own luck. Despite finding life with the Death Eaters harsher than he had expected, he was quite sure that his luck would eventually rectify matters. And, just maybe, it was this luck that brought him back to life seventeen years later in a house that no longer belonged to his family.

Two months before he had been whipped by Bellatrix, Regulus had begun to cultivate a small seed of hope. He had finally made the conscious decision to separate himself from the Dark Lord entirely; ideally, he would live to enjoy what remained of his life. But for this to happen, he needed leverage. He needed something that would tip the odds in his favour, so to speak.

Luck, as it always had, answered his call.

-!-

Voldemort used words that inspired his followers, but his tone indicated how he really saw them. It was of little consequence—even if they noticed—because good things came when the Dark Lord spoke, and they were the faithful soldiers who would reap the greatest spoils in the end. But Regulus was a man who clung tightly to words and tone of voice, examining them from every angle. It had been a habit developed when he was young. Late some nights, he could hear his parents fighting—trying to understand what they wanted, even though they wouldn't tell each other. He had honed this skill when Sirius fought with his mother—trying to understand if Sirius really did hate them all. And when he reached Hogwarts, he'd been successful at determining whether or not his brother's friends were really being nice or only trying to get him into trouble.

Voldemort also happened to brag quite often. He claimed to be stronger than everyone else; to have a power they could never imagine to have. Yes, maybe he was, but Regulus always felt there was more to it than simple strength. And as he began to harbour ill feelings for the Death Eaters, he wondered what Voldemort was really hiding.

At the time, Voldemort's Right Hand was a tall, black man named Sampson. He was a rather frightening man who particularly enjoyed techniques of torture, the way a boy might enjoy opening Christmas presents. Sampson, it seemed, was the only person to receive Voldemort's entire confidence. Perhaps it was because Sampson, though fearfully respected, was a bit of an outcast among the other Death Eaters.

One day, Regulus had accidentally—or, at least, so he would claim more than a decade later—come upon a private conversation between Voldemort and Sampson. Lurking behind a large velvet curtain, Regulus stood stock-still, his heart thumping madly.

"I wish to be immortal, Sampson," Voldemort said. He was clutching a goblet of wine, watching its contents swirl idly.

"Don't you believe you've made enough of them?" Sampson asked. His voice didn't strain; it came out simply, casually.

"One more. I just need one more, and then to hide them all," Voldemort said. "Dumbledore is a fool if he thinks he will be able to get rid of me." He stopped talking, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I think we have a guest."

_Fuck_, swore Regulus silently. He stumbled from his hiding place, trying to look as though he had been running. "My Lord, I've found you! I brought you news on my brother. The Potters, they're—"

"You're a very quiet one, Regulus," Voldemort said, dangerously.

"I—er—" stammered Regulus. He couldn't die. Not here, not yet.

Voldemort seemed to be studying him. Regulus lowered his eyes to the floor. He knew that staring back would be disrespectful. He had heard rumours that the Dark Lord could read minds. Was this possible?

Panicked, Regulus conjured up the most embarrassing thing he could think of: himself, a box of chocolates, and a beautiful woman who wanted nothing to do with him—except date his brother. _Hate and rejection_, thought Regulus quickly, _Death Eater emotions._

An eternity seemed to pass before Voldemort chuckled. "You're very simple, Regulus," he said.

"My Lord?" Regulus asked, forcibly injecting confusion into his shaky voice.

"Leave me. You can share your news at the meeting tonight," Voldemort ordered.

Regulus bowed as low as possible, kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, and departed, thankful that his heart was still in his chest.

But Regulus's curiosity was piqued. He had been waiting for something to use against the Dark Lord; had he found it? The conversation of immortality, hiding _something_, and Dumbledore's ignorance swirled around in his mind uncontrollably. Could this be his luck at work?

-!-

Lord Voldemort understood the necessity to reward his faithful Death Eaters once in a while, thus maintaining their loyalty and utility. He did this in the form of several parties, during which drinks were served, un-pure blood was shed, and Death Eaters had a good chance of ending up in a bed that wasn't theirs. Regulus never missed a party if he could help it.

After having been tortured savagely by Voldemort, he spent the following party drinking, swearing and flirting with a woman much too blonde, much too tall and with breasts much too big, who, in the end, had to put him off rather forcefully. Humbled, irritated, and more than a little drunk, Regulus decided to call it a night.

Apparating home shakily, Regulus found himself several feet off-target, in his family's library, only slightly aware that Kreacher was trying to help him to bed. Dizzy and disoriented, Regulus turned, registered the house elf's presence, and vomited spectacularly. His knees buckled, and he clutched at the nearest bookshelf to steady himself. Stumbling, he got hold of a book instead, and slipped to the floor in a heap, his head pulsing, and his stomach threatening to empty its contents all over again.

Unable to fight much longer, Regulus gave in to the beckoning Sandman, and passed out quietly.

-!-

He was awakened at seven o'clock the next morning when his mother came in, turned her nose up at the smell, and commanded Kreacher to shake him awake. She ordered him to get cleaned up—they were to have breakfast with the Malfoys. Regulus yawned, stretched, and realized that the pain in his neck was due to the thick book he had been using as a pillow. He picked it up carefully (many volumes were old and brittle) and looked at the cover. _The Undeniably Dark Arts by Cygnus Black (continued by descendents)_ was printed on the cover in ornate, silver letters.

Ah, of course. Most of the books in the Black library were written by ancestors—scholars, philosophers, madmen. Some had been published, while several others were written solely for his family's private collection.

In an idly curious manner, Regulus leafed through the book, back to front, until he encountered a table of contents that had been added to and scrawled upon, throughout the years. While Regulus was familiar with many of the topics - an early form of the Imperius Curse, and a passage written by Bellatrix on focusing the Cruciatus Curse were among these – many of the others were nearly incomprehensible. Who on earth wanted a spell that would cause muggle toilets to regurgitate? But there, nearly two-thirds of the way on, was a word he did not recognize. In spidery handwriting, the phrase "_HORCRUXES_ – _A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE?" _screamed at him. This was precisely what he would need, if he would have any chance of successfully escaping the Death Eaters. Ignoring his mother's increasingly agitated calls from below, Regulus quickly flipped to the appropriate page. The entry on horcruxes was only a page in length, very brief in information, and looked as though it were meant to be updated.

_Horcruxes_, it read, _have long carried the controversy of whether or not they can be considered as homicidal objects. The removal and storage of a part of the soul, while not damaging to the body per se, is seen as a violation of the act of God, if not nature itself. It is important to note that a Horcrux does not always work. In 1856, Andrew Isaacs used a Horcrux as an anchor to keep part of him on the Earth plane while he travelled Purgatory for research._ _However, as his wife and Isaacs's assistant report, upon sending himself to Purgatory, the Horcrux—embedded in the couple's wedding album—blew up. As a consequence, Isaacs was stuck in Purgatory and never seen again_.

His face fell as he finished the pitifully short passage. No instructions; not even any indication as to the requirements. What in the world was a horcrux? And how could it be stored in a wedding album? Something tickled the back of Regulus' brain – maybe he was still hungover – but something seemed to fit. And suddenly, in a glorious moment of understanding, something thunked satisfyingly into place.

-!-

Regulus tried to eavesdrop on other conversations, mostly with no success. When Sampson died a month later, Regulus was sure it was because Voldemort was nearly finished, and didn't want anyone to know the truth about what he was up to. So Regulus began to take up with Lucius again, who had suddenly found himself promoted to Right Hand.

Slowly, combing methodically through his family's library, Regulus made progress researching horcruxes. It was hard—Horcruxes were a taboo subject, but he didn't need much to go on.

And then Voldemort's Very Secret Project had started.

Regulus was not included. Perhaps it was because he had messed up a few times in the past, or perhaps because Voldemort thought he'd had an impressive record of being places at inconvenient times. But Regulus's closest friend was, in fact, included. And that particular friend, a plump wizard called Crabbe, talked a lot when he was under the influence of alcohol.

To explain the entire conversation would perhaps be a bit boring, especially as listening to an alcohol-induced moron is painful, but Regulus' recollection went like this:

"What is You Know Who is having you all do these days?" Regulus asked casually. Wine was poured into glasses. Fifth round? Or was it the fifteenth?

"Eh, he's having us transport Inferi," Crabbe muttered. Drink, slurp, munch on peanuts.

"Inferi?" Regulus asked, curiously. Voldemort really did seem to be obsessing over them as of late. "Where to?"

Drink, drink. "Top secret."

More wine was poured. A new dish of nuts was brought out. "You can tell me," Regulus insisted, "Who am I going to tell?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Eh, some cave on a coast. Bloody cold out there." Drink, drink. "Have I told you the wife and I are having problems?"

Regulus ignored this last. "What coast?" he pressed.

His friend seemed to be thinking about it—while helping himself to another glass of wine. "Remember a few months back when we went to scare those little Muggle children on a lark? He was furious with us. I think we weren't supposed to be there. There was a beach you saw."

"I joked about going for a swim," added Regulus, remembering, but unable to recall a cave. He hadn't seen one. Maybe it had been hidden from simple view.

"Yeah, yeah, that one." Drink, drink, munch. "Roberta will have my head if I'm late again. I mean, you'd think she'd sympathise with this job."

Despite having no patience for Crabbe's domestic fixation, this was enough information for Regulus. He wiped his Crabbe's memory deftly and escorted him home, to Roberta's not-so-delicate ministrations.

"Men; you're good-for-nothings," Roberta had snarled, carrying her husband into the house.

Regulus stood out in the night air, thinking hard. Was the cave a hiding spot for Voldemort's Horcruxes? He had to know for sure. His freedom was within reach. Just a little longer, and he could make his escape.

-!-

Regulus returned home that night with a plan. He now knew Voldemort kept one Horcrux in the cave, and, by all appearances, Lucius had another one. He could easily go after Lucius; steal the book, but—

_Family_, the word echoed in Regulus's mind. Blood was thicker than water, and you didn't just do those sorts of things to family. If Lucius lost that book—if it was truly a Horcrux—he and Narcissa would die painfully by Voldemort's hand.

Regulus didn't feel he could sentence them to that. Especially not if Narcissa was so keen on spawning a child named Draco, who would go into politics, marry well, and be the pride and joy of his family.

Regulus owed them more than that.

_So_.

It would be door number two. It was decided. He would go after the Horcrux in the cave. Or, at least, _try to_. Except, except—

_Instant death_, probably at Voldemort's own hands. Automatically, bloodily, and that wasn't quite what he wanted. He wanted to stay alive.

Regulus decided there was only one road left to him. Turn himself into Dumbledore. Dumbledore was an understanding man; he had often said that he believed in giving people second chances. Surely Regulus was no different—especially if he came with Voldemort's deepest secret, and a piece of his soul, to boot.

But he had to be quick. Regulus had been sloppy, as of late. His desire to leave had possessed him, obsessed him. He stayed up late at night, trying in vain to research horcruxes in the Black family library. His late-night studies had turned up several volumes on extending life, but nothing else on horcruxes, or specifically, their destruction. Somewhat sleep deprived, he had gone about his daily Death Eater responsibilities mechanically; his heart was no longer in it. He was quite sure that Voldemort had at least sensed that. His death, even now, might be in the making, and, once again, Regulus didn't want to die. He wanted to grow old, get married to an average woman and have average children. In short, all Regulus Black wanted anymore was an average life.

Regulus ran through his impossibly simple-sounding plan. One, get Horcrux. Two, make it out alive—whatever was in that cave—Inferi aside—probably wasn't going to be cute and cuddly. Three, go to Dumbledore. Four, continue breathing. Five, average life.

Excellent, a good plan, except—

Would he have time to make it from the cave to Dumbledore? He could go to Sirius, instead. Surely Sirius would protect him until they could locate Dumbledore. There was a grudge between the brothers, but… _blood was thicker than water_.

His plan, despite being simple, was highly dangerous, but Regulus thought he had an idea for a safety net. As he had done several nights that month, Regulus waited for his mother to fall asleep, and snuck to the library. He plucked a book (_Life, the Universe, and Everything, _by Sirius II) from one of the shelves. It was a sort of recipe book, except that it contained instructions to make spells and potions of a very complex nature rather than bake the perfect birthday cake. Some of the instructions had been crossed through, but others were either perfect, or untested. One such spell had been only half-written, with a small footnote. _So that Hesper may call me home when she wishes_, it read.

_A spell to call you home_.

Regulus worked nearly all night to finish it. It was vastly complicated, and laced together with ancient magic. He'd had to reword most of the spell to fit the occasion, and he'd added ingredients where he felt they were needed. Birds were singing as he finished, but he was quite sure he had something useful. Sirius II's introductory passage indicated that ancient magic was half nerve, and half pure luck. Regulus knew he had at least one of these working for him. Could he use this spell?

If he could get someone to say it, the spell would bring him "home". Right out of the frying pan. Home to Grimmauld Place, and then immediately into Dumbledore's protection. It could work. But of course, Voldemort wouldn't just let Regulus go.

_Think_, Regulus forced himself. He was _not_ stupid. He could do this. Perfect; it had to be absolutely perfect. His entire life depended on this.

_If I get the Horcrux, and I'm still alive, how do I stay so?_

He was going to see Sirius. He was going to ask Sirius to help him and take him to Dumbledore. _Blood was thicker…_ And it hit him.

_Sirius_. Sirius could pull off the spell!

It was quite simple, now that he thought of it. After going to Sirius, all he had to do was explain the spell. If Regulus was later caught by Voldemort, he'd be tortured. By arranging a signal, Sirius could "call him home", and then the two could hurry to Dumbledore's protection.

He'd be free. Free! FREE!

Regulus felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He was ready for anything. He'd get a good night's sleep, and then immediately be off for the Horcrux. Voldemort would never suspect that he—a Death Eater—would go against his Lord. Voldemort would never imagine that there was someone that sneaky.

Regulus would prove the bastard wrong.

-!-

It took Regulus a bit of time to find the cave. He had never been good at detecting Concealment Charms, and he had to poke around quite a bit before he noticed everything was right under his nose. Now wet and cold, Regulus touched the wall of the cave, considering.

How, exactly, was he supposed to get in? He knew, from a few diagnostic spells, that he had found the entrance. A beautiful white outline was sketched into the stone confirming this, but he could see no sign of hinges or a keyhole.

_Well, not exactly_.

Could Voldemort's cave require a password to enter? Regulus frowned, trying to think about how the Dark Lord worked. He was a man of obedience, a man of—

_Pain_. Could it be? Voldemort certainly did like to see his subordinates suffer.

"Crucio!" cried Regulus, casting the spell at the door's outline. The spell rebounded and hit Regulus squarely in the chest. His screams of pain echoing throughout the cave, Regulus could do nothing but wait for the reflected spell to subside. It may have been mere seconds, but Regulus panted hard, his frame shaking, and his breath coming in gasps.

Damn. What else might weaken Voldemort's opposition, if they sought entrance? A blood-sacrifice? It was powerful ancient magic, and just crazy enough to work.

Still shaking, Regulus took out his wand and muttered a spell. A jagged slice appeared on his palm, and blood trickled onto the rock. He healed it with a deft twirl of his wand. Regulus smiled as the rock gave way to utter darkness, pleased with his own cleverness.

Well, not that _pleased_.

Wand out, Regulus crept cautiously into the cave, his skin crawling. Yes, there was definitely strong magic here. Even he could not miss it. He could detect a faint green light at the end, and the air seemed to thicken around him. He noticed a lake, which seemed to extend on and on. He walked closer to the shore, carefully to not actually touch the water. There was something powerfully magical about the lake Regulus didn't wish to disturb. Yet.

"Ah," said Regulus. The green light could now be pinpointed somewhere in the middle of the lake. A sort of _come and get me_ sign, which Regulus found reassuring. Now how would he get there? There was something about the water that indicated swimming would be a bad idea.

Voldemort certainly wouldn't swim, either. There must be something, a boat or a raft. Regulus tried to steady his heart rate and concentrate. The effects of the Cruciatus were slowly wearing off, and with a clear head, he could feel magic everywhere; there was probably something hidden.

There! A slight shimmer in the air that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Regulus ran his hands across the ground, questing for something solid. Come on, come on… Finally, he let out a delighted noise, and used a revealing spell.

A chain appeared out of thin air, diving into the depths of the water. Regulus grabbed it tightly and pulled. He felt relieved as a small boat came into view. He had a way to cross now.

As Regulus sailed on—the boat seemed to be quite content to move on its own—he couldn't help but glance into the water. He was quite sure he could see bodies down there. The Inferi? Possibly. They didn't worry him. He had worked with them plenty of times. He only feared anything else Voldemort might have hiding around. And that, he reminded himself, encompassed quite a bit.

Regulus let out a deep breath as he floated slowly towards a small island. The green light shone from it, and Regulus found himself staring at a stone basin, sitting proudly atop a pedestal. The basin was filled with liquid that seemed to glow. There, at the bottom, was a heavy-looking locket.

"So easy," Regulus grinned, and reached into the basin victoriously.

His hand stopped midway. He couldn't get any closer.

Fuck. He should have guessed. He'd been so steeped in luck lately that he had underestimated Voldemort. Stupid.

How would he break through? Over the course of a very frustrating hour, Regulus tried a series of things. He tried to use his wand to suck up the liquid, he tried to tip the basin itself, he tried to Transfigure it into something else; he even tried to Summon the Horcrux from a short distance.

Nothing worked.

_Fuck_.

Did he have to drink it? It was the only thing he hadn't tried.

_He refused_.

There was no way in hell he would try that. He wanted to stay alive, and he was quite sure the liquid was dangerous. There had to be another way.

_Think_.

Regulus was suddenly aware that something was staring at him. He turned around, wand ready, and took a startled step backwards – a dozen heads peered at him from the water.

He had lied to himself. The Inferi frightened him. A lot. Especially when they were staring at him like that. As though—as though they were waiting for him to make the wrong move.

Regulus stared back at them stubbornly. They wouldn't hurt him as long as he was on the island. Or, he supposed, at least not until he had the Horcrux. He wanted that Horcrux. Should he drink from the basin?

Regulus glared fiercely at the closest Inferi. Was it inching closer? Regulus tried to remind himself that he had worked with Inferi before. They were nothing but toys. They weren't intelligent, and were, in fact, easy to kill. They weren't a real threat. It was the fear making it worse.

_They are nothing but toys_, he thought forcefully.

Regulus closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. He remembered a time when he had been assigned to Inferi duty. His task had been to gather them into a large cage to be used later. Inferi didn't take orders; they didn't know how. By simply releasing them on something you wished destroyed, they would wreak havoc. However—

Regulus opened his eyes. Inferi were susceptible to the Imperius Curse. That was how the Death Eaters ordered them around. They couldn't even fight it off.

Could he? Could he use an Inferius? Would the basin know? It couldn't. Voldemort could never imagine a potential foe would be willing, or even know how, to interact with an Inferius. This might just work.

"_Imperio_!" Regulus bellowed, pointing his wand at the nearest Inferius.

"_Come to me_."

He watched as it rose slowly from the water, and had to stifle a cry. It was, or rather, had been, Sampson. Regulus tried not to think about it. He urged the tall, black Inferius closer, holding his breath.

"_Approach the basin_."

The Inferius obeyed with ease. Regulus wasn't quite sure he could maintain the spell, though. He wasn't the best at these curses, and it was wearing down on him. He needed to hurry up. If he ran out of strength, he would be in big trouble.

"_Drink the liquid_."

Sampson the Inferius scooped the liquid up in his hands and drank. He repeated the process thrice more. Regulus was silently singing victory when Sampson suddenly began to thrash around. Regulus was losing control of the magic, and the liquid was having some sort of side effect.

"_Continue_!"

Regulus moved towards the basin, careful to keep out of the reach of the Inferius. Soon enough he'd turn on him. Surely it was also under some protective enchantment of Voldemort's.

"_Again_!"

The locket was now tantalizingly close. One more drink should do it, but Sampson was suffering from immense pain—probably being burned from the inside out—Voldemort was fond of that one for muggles. Regulus would be unable to Imperius another, and, by the looks of it, this Inferius was calling on the others for help. Ripples were erupting from the water all around him. Splashes echoed off of the cave walls, somewhere in the distance.

The Inferius took the last drink and fell to the floor, an empty husk of a corpse. Regulus scooped up the locket, truly smiling for the first time in months. He felt, he felt—

Victorious.

And it was very quickly going to his head.

He inspected the locket carefully. Yes, this was it, he was sure. A Horcrux, he could feel it. Regulus grinned. He wouldn't let this moment go to waste. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a locket of his own. It wasn't as pretty, he had to admit, but it would do. He hadn't thought of it, but he felt like leaving a fake, since he had the chance. His locket had been a family heirloom, but he probably wouldn't need it.

He'd be disowned any day now, anyway.

"Let's see," he said, pulling out a parchment and a pen. He felt cheeky. He wanted to leave a note, as well. He scribbled something hastily, stuffed it into the fake locket, and placed it carefully back into the basin. To his surprise, the basin refilled itself.

Regulus let out a breath. He had just completed the hardest part of his plan.

And he was still alive. Now he had only to escape the Inferi creeping out of the water, track down his brother, explain the spell, and seek out Dumbledore's protection.

Regulus swallowed, hard. He would need his luck. Every bit of it he possessed.

-!-

**Final notes:** In future chapters, Regulus wraps up his story, Harry moves the Order forward, Draco Malfoy, and someone is finally getting to release their hormones… sort of.


	18. The Land of Nothingness

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (18)

**Summary: **A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** And we quickly move forward on with the fic. Another round of applause for Meucci Warlock, who avoided playing with bears just so he could beta this for us.

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, including spoilers.

-!-

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE LAND OF NOTHINGNESS

The human soul aches for simplicity. It finds reassurance when everything is organized into single drawers, labelled for usage. And, yet, the human soul also believes that the world revolves on dissatisfaction, and when dissatisfaction is not present, the soul creates complications to provide it.

Which only led them to become furious that nothing was ever simple.

Harry Potter, for example, ached for simplicity.

"Let me see if I understand," said Harry, slowly. "You got the Horcrux, made it safely out of the cave, but when you reached Sirius, he turned you away."

"Yes," Regulus said simply.

_He's the reason you're dead_, thought Harry. _He's the reason my parents died. He's the reason—_

Harry stopped thinking. The past was the past. Nothing could be done about it now. Sirius hadn't known. Sirius couldn't have known. Secretly, Harry hoped Sirius would never know.

"What I don't understand, then," he continued, "is how the spell got you to come back. I mean, you died, didn't you?"

Regulus leaned against his pillows. "Are you in a hurry? I'm actually getting to the good part." He paused dramatically as Harry arched an eyebrow. "I still don't know who killed me, but they were strong. There's this spell, very dark, very illegal, that separates the soul from the body. For centuries, many have used it for studies in the Dark Arts, mostly trying to go to planes we don't belong in. Voldemort's followers used it to create Inferi, when they didn't want to damage the body too badly. It gets a bit boring if you constantly use the Killing Curse, y'know. As I came to understand, I was meant to be an Inferi. A bit of irony in my life, I suppose."

Harry scratched his scar. It burned slightly. "I don't think I quite see how this answers the question."

Regulus grinned. "Honestly, Potter? I'm not quite sure how the spell worked, but let me explain to you what happened when I died."

-!-

Wizards, like Muggles, are not quite sure what is there after death. Some believe in Heaven and Hell, others believe in Reincarnation, a few in nothing at all. It's quite the confusion, but everyone is pretty sure that we'll never truly know.

Regulus had no real idea of what was going on. His soul had nowhere else to go once it had been separated from its body. As a result, the soul was banished to Nothingness. At least, that's what some called it; others had deemed it "Purgatory".

To Regulus, it was like nothingness. Everything was a sort of black, and always present was this feeling that he had just woken up from a nap, but was still a bit too drowsy to do anything. He stood there, in the middle of all that black, for quite a while.

He wondered.

He thought.

He scratched his nose.

Was this death? It wasn't very unpleasant. A bit boring, perhaps.

And then someone smacked him over the head.

Regulus turned around, and found himself looking up at a heavily-built man with short black hair and a long beard, who just might be what Regulus would look like at fifty. "Father?" Regulus asked, his eyes widening. "I must be in Hell!"

"Stop standing there as though you're waiting for the bus. Follow me!" his father snapped.

"Where am I?" Regulus asked as he broke into a quick stride. "Is this… Hell? Should I expect a flame to shoot up my arse soon?"

"This is In Between," his father answered, still walking.

"Oh." Regulus thought about it. "What's In Between?"

"In Between is where you wait to move on." Upon seeing Regulus's face, his father's features softened, and he added, "I don't know where you move to, son. I just know that, eventually, everyone goes through those doors, and they don't come back. I think I'm due soon."

"So I have died," Regulus confirmed. "I didn't even get tortured a bit."

"You haven't died." His father finally stopped walking. "Look, Regulus, you're not really meant to be here. You're a sort of intruder. You were thrown here, like… well, like your mother throws House-elves into the rubbish bin."

"Does that mean I get to leave?" Regulus asked. He suddenly felt afraid. He was quite sure it wasn't an emotion that belonged in In Between, but he certainly felt it.

"No, nobody gets to leave," his father said sadly. "But… you don't exactly get to move on, either. I mean, you're not exactly registered to leave, are you? It's like the Ministry lost your record."

"Oh, goody," said Regulus, dryly. "I'm nothing, even in Nothingness. Don't I feel special?"

"Well, it has happened before. I might have caused it myself before. I made a few Inferi in the day. I can't really confirm," his father said. "Er, yes. Anyway, I thought you'd like a bit of company. Until it's my turn to leave, of course. I'm number 874641315347387946537 and few extra thousand digits I can never seem to remember."

Regulus felt incredibly lost. He suddenly realized that he would forever be alone.

Roughly sixteen years passed (and his father was still waiting) before Regulus felt as though he were awakening from hibernation. The Nothingness seemed to fade before him until everything became a greyish colour, a blur that swirled hypnotically.

"You have been called, Regulus," a voice said.

He could not see who had spoken. "I'm moving on? But my father hasn't even had a turn yet," Regulus said.

"Not moving on, going back. You have been called," the voice said. "Do you understand what this means?"

Regulus wanted to say yes. "No."

"You have been called to the realm of the living. Magic invokes you. Are you willing to pay the price to go back?" the voice asked.

"Fuck yes," said Regulus.

"One day you will have to provide your trade. You will know when the time comes."

And then Nothingness completely faded away.

-!-

"My theory," Regulus said, "is that when you uttered the spell, it did call me home. It called back my body and called back my soul, they found each other, and, _bam_, instant Regulus delivered to your doorstep."

Harry felt a headache coming on. Surely one person couldn't have accomplished all of this? He felt like a dozen books deserved to be written about Regulus. "You said—you said a trade would eventually come," he said slowly. "What is it?"

For the first time since the conversation, Harry realised that Regulus was looking uncomfortable. "Regulus?" he prodded.

"Inferi eventually decompose," Regulus said. "It takes time, because of the magic, even longer when it's a result of a banished soul, but they decompose, because, well, it's _nature_."

Harry inhaled sharply. "Are you _decomposing_?" he asked.

Regulus shrugged. "Not yet. But… it's like I feel I'm meant to. Sometimes I wake up, and I raise my hand, and I think I see the flesh peeling away. Maybe I'm just going insane, but…."

"Do you know how long you have?" Harry asked. He didn't know why, but he actually felt sad.

Regulus shook his head. "Doesn't matter. The ride's been fun." And then, a bit more perkily, "So, what's the next step, leader?"

Harry sighed. "Hermione has this theory that the next Horcrux is at the gravesite of Voldemort's father. We're going to check it out tomorrow," he said. "I'm taking a small group to scout ahead." He stood up to leave.

"Hey, Potter?" Regulus called as Harry left. "Despite everything, Sirius was a good man in his heart."

-!-

Hermione inconspicuously hid her romance novella under a thick history volume as Ginny crept into the library, looking completely desolate.

"Everything all right, Ginny?" she asked.

Ginny sighed dramatically, dropping onto the sofa, and rested her head on Hermione's shoulder. "Boys stink," she muttered.

"Oh?" Hermione said. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Ginny blushed slightly. "Hypothetically?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sure. A friend's problem that's getting to you, then?" she said, trying to hide the smile.

Ginny sat up, looking at Hermione solemnly. "Promise you won't say anything!" Hermione nodded, and Ginny continued, "I have this… er, cousin, you know?"

"I haven't really met your cousins," Hermione interjected.

"That doesn't matter. I just have this cousin, um… Alexa, yeah? Right, so you see, Alexa likes this boy very much," Ginny explained. "Thomas, that's his name. Alexa and Thomas."

"Is Thomas aware of these feelings towards him?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, he is, actually. But, being the stupid boy he is, he doesn't think anything should happen between him and Alexa," said Ginny, angrily. "He's an, uh, farmer, you see, in—in magical produce, and if there should be a bad harvest…."

"Someone might be hurt or used to hurt someone else," Hermione finished. "Yes, those tomatoes and lettuces can be quite problematic."

Ginny nodded frantically. "Exactly! So Alexa and Thomas went their separate ways, promising to stay friends, even though Alexa would very much like to kick Thomas between the legs. But as of late, she tells me, she's been getting these signs from Thomas."

"What kind of signs?" Hermione interrupted.

"Looks, touches, and… a kiss," Ginny said.

Hermione's eye widened. "A kiss? You—I mean, Alexa and Thomas kissed?" She giggled. "I see. Then what happened?"

"Well even though they aren't exactly going out, they've been maintaining a bit of a relationship on the side." Ginny had the grace to blush under Hermione's incredulous stare. "But—but Alexa thought they might even take it to the next level, and—"

"Wait, what's the next level?" Hermione demanded.

Ginny blushed even more. "_You know_, after… you know!"

"_Sex_?" said Hermione, in a voice that only dogs might hear.

"A little louder, Hermione! I don't think Voldemort heard you!" Ginny hissed.

Hermione exhaled. "I'm sorry, Ginny. You were saying that yo—Alexa wanted to, um, become more intimate with Thomas." She was looking a bit peaky all of a sudden.

"Exactly, and she's been giving him the signs, but suddenly—suddenly this _other girl_ came into the picture, and even though she's totally, incredibly, hideously—I mean, just awfully!—wrong for Harry, I'm afraid that he won't want to sleep with... _you know_!" Ginny looked completely flustered.

"You just said Harry," Hermione said stupidly. "I mean, _I know_, but you just said—never mind. I suppose we should stop pretending, anyway. Are you afraid that Harry is sleeping with someone else, Ginny?"

"Yes," Ginny whimpered, taking a rather large cushion and hiding her face behind it. Her face had taken on a shade similar to the colour of her hair.

"But who would he sleep with?" Hermione asked, trying to sound logical.

The pillow muttered something incoherent.

"Pardon?" Hermione insisted.

"Pansy," the pillow said.

Hermione giggled. The pillow shook slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Gin," Hermione said, trying to control her voice, "but you're being quite silly. Why would Harry sleep with Pansy of all people? They absolutely loathe each other."

"Regulus said that they use codewords for a time and a place," the pillow said sadly. "You know, _I have an ITCH, Harry_. Itch, my arse."

"Regulus is an idiot. Nobody can be thicker than him about these things," Hermione assured her. "Plus, again, Harry hates Pansy. I don't think he'd even offer her a hug."

"They say there's a fine line between love and hate," Ginny said thickly, peering from over the pillow. "And she's quite pretty, isn't she?"

"But Harry loves you," Hermione added. "Even if he is, I agree, a bit stupid and believes that he's doing the best thing by keeping you at arm's length."

Ginny seemed to think it over. She was clutching the pillow as though she wanted to tear it apart. "It's just that, we're going to go against Voldemort soon, and I don't want things to end like this with Harry," she explained.

Hermione smiled. "Well, I don't know much about approaching a man about sex and the sort, so I can't offer you any advice in that department, but Harry does love you very much, and I'm sure he'll talk things out with you."

"So you and Regulus haven't slept together yet?" Ginny asked, getting up with a cheeky grin.

"_Goodbye_, Ginny," Hermione said firmly.

The only thing that saved a cheeky Ginny from getting a book thrown at her was Tonks' sudden appearance, announcing, "Order meeting! Let's go!"

-!-

Harry had called an Order meeting. Everyone was asked to come, and he decided to share snippets of Regulus's story. He didn't want to lie; he told things as they were. He couldn't help but glance at Remus as he told Sirius's part in it all, noticing the disappointment, the remorse. _It's a thing of the past_, he ended the tale.

"The best thing would be to send a group of five to the gravesite tomorrow," said Remus. A map suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Remus pressed a certain square and a large photograph of the grave rose over their heads. "We're only grasping at straws, so there's no need to send a whole army. If there's anything suspicious, one can go back and bring others."

"Who's going?" Bill asked.

"I'm going," Harry said firmly. "And I'll choose my team. Ron, Hermione, Neville, I want you to come with me."

"Can I go?" Regulus asked.

"No," answered Harry. "You're a liability. Even though we're not expecting anything, in a fight you're of no use. Sorry."

"I think you should take an adult," Molly said.

"They are adults, Molly," Arthur said solemnly. "Children have to grow up quickly these days."

"Tonks can come along, if she wants," Harry said.

Tonks nodded. "Sure thing, Harry," she said with a grin.

"We need to move faster." Harry looked around at the members of the Order. "We need to get lucky now. We're behind. Voldemort's laughing at us. We need to win _quickly_."

"We have a possible lead over in Wales," Kingsley said, taking the floor. "We can't leave tomorrow, but Tonks and I will head over in three days. Someone is claiming to have an object that belongs to Rowena Ravenclaw. We're going to verify it, possibly bring it back."

"The werewolves are ready to wreak havoc," Remus added. "They're planning on finally going out into the open. They're… they're keen on human meat. Harry is right, we need to speed up."

A few more topics were brought up in the meeting, mostly bad news. Harry grew more frustrated as the time passed, and Remus finally called everything to an end. Tomorrow his team would be ready. He hoped they were on the right lead.

"Potter, can I have a word?" Regulus said, lurking behind.

"What is it?" Harry asked, sounding cranky. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. Actually, he wanted to get in a good conversation with Cedric.

"I have something for you. Come into my room." Regulus walked him there, and began to rummage in the back of his wardrobe. After a few seconds he pulled out a rather nice-looking leather scabbard. It was big enough to fit a sword. "It belonged to some ancestor of mine," Regulus explained. "You know, back in the day when swords were still being used. It's been charmed to weigh lightly on your back. I thought you could use it to hold Gryffindor's sword. You should take it to the gravesite. Just in case."

Harry accepted it. It felt soft to the touch. "Thank you," he said, because he wasn't quite sure what else to say.

Regulus grinned. "Oh, well, you know how it goes. Brother adopts kid, brother dies, brother's brother adopts kid. Consider it a late Christmas/Birthday present."

Harry grinned. "Sirius didn't exactly adopt me," he said.

Regulus shrugged. "He would have. Blood law says that I would have to take care of you in the case he died. I'm not making it up, I swear."

Harry snorted. "Like I'd want to be under your guidance. But thanks for this. It looks proper for Gryffindor's sword."

"You better take good care of it," Regulus said. "My great-great-great-great-grandmother's house-elf made it herself. She infused her own blood in it and everything."

Harry stared at the scabbard in his hands with slight disgust. "Gee, thanks for the history lesson," he said dryly.

Regulus smirked.

-!-

**Final notes:** In future chapters: Harry visits the gravesite, Regulus throws a fit, and someone betrays the Order.


	19. The Death Eater

**Title:** Several Miles from the Sun (19)

**Summary:** A little past midnight, the troublesome trio break into Number 12, Grimmauld Place in hopes of finding something that will aid them in the fight against Voldemort. When they come upon a spell that promises to return a Black to them, Harry won't hear objections from his friends. But what happens when the wrong Black is returned?

**Author's notes:** I sleep now. Meucci Warlock good beta.

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** FFnet seems to be a bit hungry today, and is enjoying itself by eating this chapter. If, at the end, you don't read "final notes", then you haven't actually finished the chapter. Trying to fix it….

**Rating:** T/PG-13

**Time-setting:** Post-HBP, spoilers included.

-!-

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE DEATH EATER

Pansy Parkinson wrote across the parchment in an elegant cursive that had been honed by generations of Parkinson women.

_Dear Mother,_

_I am well, but I worry about your own health. I fear you will not be able to fetch me at the train station today now that my holiday is over. I am having a jolly good time, but I know the end is near._

_Please do not forget to come pick me up, for I have no other way to get home. Remember that the location is the platform where I left my lavender cardigan. The train might arrive a bit late—weather problems have been arising out here—but do not fear!_

_I expect to see you later on today,_

_Pansy_

Pansy found a small envelope and carefully sealed her letter. Once she was sure Harry and his little group had left for the gravesite, she bounded cheerfully down the stairs.

"Oh, Professor!" she cried, upon seeing Trelawney.

Trelawney, who had become a bit sour as of late, tried to smile. "Hello, Miss Parkinson. What may I do for you?"

"Would you mind sending another letter to my mother?" Pansy asked. "She's been getting worse lately, and I want to make sure she doesn't need me."

Trelawney nodded tersely. "I still think you should go home, my dear. You might be fighting for the cause, but Mister Potter will surely understand!"

Pansy smiled sincerely as she handed over the envelope. "Oh, don't worry, Professor," she confided, "I'm sure I'll be going home quite soon!"

Ignorance, Pansy mused, was power.

It was a pity that Harry never thought to keep Trelawney up to date on his houseguests.

-!-

Regulus could not believe he had been left in a house with a mad Seer and a spoiled, kidnapped Death Eater. Furthermore, he couldn't believe that Harry had pulled him aside, saying, "You're in charge. Don't set any fires," before he had left.

He was _in charge_? In charge of _what_?

Regulus sighed as his house of cards collapsed. It had been all of ten minutes since Harry and his small, miserable-looking team had left, and he was already bored out of his mind.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and Pansy came in, smiling nervously. "Um, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to drown your sorrows with me." She raised a bottle of Firewhiskey like a trophy.

Regulus snickered. "Where'd you get that? Potter's been hiding all the liquor since batty old Trelawney moved in," he said.

Pansy smirked. "We all have our secrets. Will you join me?" She pointed the bottle at him and waggled her eyebrows.

Regulus had never been able to hold his liquor, and he really hadn't drank a lot since he had returned. Plus, he was quite sure Harry—_and Hermione_—would be really upset if they came home to find that Pansy had pinched his drink, and used it to get them all drunk.

"Yeah, alright," Regulus heard himself say. "And let's get Trelawney to join us so that Potter really blows his top."

The Firewhiskey was out of commission pretty quickly, particularly because Trelawney had taken it hostage and threatened to stab anyone with her fork if they came near it.

So Pansy produced a bottle of tequila.

"Aren't you going to drink your shot?" Regulus asked, after his third.

Pansy scrunched up her nose. "I'm not very good with tequila," she admitted. "I'm a champagne kind of girl, naturally."

Regulus scoffed. "_Baby_. You must not be a decent Death Eater. _Real_ Death Eaters can hold their tequila." His elbow slipped off the table.

Trelawney giggled into her bottle.

Pansy blushed. "Fine, give me three shots! I'll catch up to you," she muttered determinedly.

"Good girl," Regulus cooed. "Here, let me just top this one off." Liquid spilled over the glasses.

Trelawney gurgled something and tapped her bottle of Firewhiskey fondly.

Regulus served himself an additional three shots, and clinked one against Pansy's shot. "Cheers!" he yelled, and threw back his head.

"Cheers!" Pansy agreed.

Regulus smacked his lips. "Y'know, this is some really good stuff. Really _sweet_, y'know. Pour me another one, girl. That's the stuff." He was only slightly aware his voice was trembling.

Pansy complied, and even passed one to Trelawney. "Cheers!"

Regulus smiled, feeling quite happy. "You haven't touched your other two shots," he observed, pointing feebly at Pansy.

"I'm not feeling very well," Pansy admitted. "I told you, tequila isn't really my drink. Do you want them?"

"I—I probably shouldn't," Regulus said. "I think I've had more than my share."

"Coward," Trelawney whispered, although she might have been whispering to her own reflection.

At this, Regulus slurped down the last two tequila shots with fervour.

Pansy smiled as Regulus suddenly slumped forward, banging his head loudly on the table.

"Oh dear," she said sweetly to Trelawney, "I guess that's what happens when you mix alcohol with asphodel."

Trelawney blinked and looked at Regulus's unconscious form. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, alarm bells were going off, but she merely matched Pansy's smile with a drunken one of her own and giggled.

And then she passed out.

-!-

Professor Trelawney awoke to a very blurry view of Pansy's face, leaning over her.

"Whass happen'?" Trelawney murmured. Her entire body ached.

"I think you had too much to drink, Professor," Pansy whispered conspiratorially, helping the professor up.

"Where's Regulus?" Trelawney asked.

"He's asleep in his room. Harry's not going to be very happy with us," Pansy said, looking ashamed.

Trelawney batted away a fly. "Eh, the boy doesn't need to know. Oh, my head! Be a dear and fetch me a glass of water," she said.

"Professor, I don't think a glass of water will help you. Why don't we go outside for some fresh air?" Pansy insisted.

Trelawney wobbled on her feet. "Oh, no, no! Mister Potter has strict rules that no one is allowed to leave the house without him knowing. We are _guests_, Miss Pansy! It would be rude to go against our host's explicit explanat—oh!" Trelawney clutched her head.

"I'm sure he won't mind if we just take a walk around the street, Professor," Pansy said. "Besides, was it not against our _host's_ _explicit instructions_ that you were not to drink alcohol?"

Trelawney's eyes narrowed. "Fine, child! Let us go for a walk, and hope our heads clear."

Pansy helped Trelawney to the door, resting her hand on the doorknob for a brief second. Usually a house-elf—Nobby, was it?—would appear like some ugly, impish bouncer, but this time there was nothing.

Pansy couldn't help but shiver in delight.

Outside was simply beautiful. The sunlight! The fresh air! Pansy couldn't help breathing it all in. "Feeling better, Professor?" she asked.

Trelawney wobbled to the middle of the street. "Yes, yes, I do. My, it does seem like a long time since I've been outside," she mused, looking happy.

Pansy giggled. "What a beautiful day, isn't it?" she exclaimed.

Perhaps it was the after-effects of the alcohol, but Trelawney began to spin in circles, like an amused seven-year-old.

Pansy grinned. Being cooped up in an old house really did turn people loony.

Trelawney suddenly froze, a sudden expression of fear on her face. "Who's that?" she cried, grabbing Pansy's arm a bit painfully.

Pansy froze on the spot, turning her head to see. Coming down the street was a young man, wearing an oversized brown coat, with vivid blond hair and pale features.

Pansy's fear evaporated, and she smiled. "Why, Professor, it's Draco Malfoy!"

-!-

Regulus felt like he had been hit by a dozen bludgers. No, make that hundreds of bludgers.

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his room; that, at least, was good. Except, well, he didn't quite remember how he had gotten there.

Regulus closed his eyes, trying to ease his brain into gear once again. Harry wasn't home, neither was Hermione. He had been left alone to watch over Trelawney and Parkinson.

Parkinson! She had gotten him to drink.

Ah, he had probably passed out. He had never been able to hold his liquor.

Regulus suddenly shot up. He had left Parkinson unsupervised. He needed to get up, wash his face, and make sure that all evidence of bottles was—

Hold on, why wasn't he going anywhere?

Regulus was aware of a sudden pain biting at his wrists. He took a glance, blinked, and—

Oh, holy lord, he had been tied to his own bed.

"Fuck," he muttered, twisting against the bonds. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

He was a dead man. He had been outwitted by a snotty little girl. Furthermore, he had probably just ensured Harry's death as well.

Regulus closed his eyes, taking a breath. He had to get word to Harry. Pansy might not be able to act directly, but the Vow was only as good as its phrasing.

So Regulus called for help.

"DOBBY! I'M BURNING MASTER POTTER'S UNDERWEAR! _DOBBY_!"

-!-

Draco Malfoy had the appearance of a malnourished cat. His hair had grown too long, his skin was paler than usual, and his fingernails were dirty, but his superior sneer was still fixed on his face.

"Mister Malfoy, what a thing to find you here!" Trelawney tittered nervously. "You—er—went missing after Dumbledore's death, didn't you?"

"I had to, Professor. Snape was after all the Slytherins!" Draco said. His voice was hoarse.

Pansy stood on the sidelines patiently.

"Yes, Professor Snape," whispered Trelawney, her eyes narrowing. "Well, it's certainly good to see you're safe, boy! Why are you here?"

Draco glanced around the street, a calculating glint in his eye. "I was looking for Potter, truth be told. I need some help," he said sweetly.

Trelawney nodded knowingly. "Harry helps us all, dear. I should have known. Your father in Azkaban, your mother overseas, and you're all alone. It's such a shame that Mister Potter isn't here right now," she said, stroking Draco's hair like a loving mother.

Draco glanced briefly at Pansy. "Potter's not home? Where is he? The Ministry?"

"We don't know," Pansy said. "He left a few hours ago with his bodygu—friends."

Draco looked upset. "I don't know if I'll be able to come back," he admitted. "I'm being watched closely. I don't want to mess up, Professor."

Trelawney nodded. "I think—I think I heard them say they were going to a gravesite. It's near… near, let me think… Hanglebrush… Hangletune—"

"Hangleton?" Draco offered.

"Yes, that's it!" Trelawney said. "Perhaps you can see if he's still there? I'm sure he'd be understanding enough to give you a hand. I'd invite you inside the house to wait, but it doesn't seem to like strangers."

"Don't worry, Professor, I'll hurry and catch up to him," Draco said, glancing at Pansy. "Coming with me, Parkinson? Your mother's been asking for you."

"You should go, dear," Trelawney insisted. "Your mother's health… the poor dear."

Pansy smiled, placed her hand in Draco's, and then the two Apparated.

There was a heavy silence, and then, with a sudden yell, the sound of a door being practically ripped from its hinges.

"YOU MAD OLD BAT, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Trelawney spun around, feeling startled.

Regulus Black was standing outside Chadwick, Dobby the house-elf by his side.

Trelawney felt faint. Regulus looked very, very unhappy.

-!-

Neville struggled as the bottom of his trousers snagged on the fence that ran around the gravesite. Hermione sighed and helped him untangle himself.

"It's very, er, pretty," she said, looking around.

"It's a graveyard, Hermione," Ron sniped. "There's nothing special about it."

Tonks and Harry moved forward, looking around. Tonks looked incredibly out of place in all the gloom with her vivid fuchsia-coloured hair.

"What tomb are we looking for, exactly?" Neville asked nervously. He wasn't fond of graveyards.

"It's very large, has a gargoyle, and it's for Tom Riddle," Harry explained. "It should be somewhere in the back. Mr Weasley said that the big gravesites are there."

The small group moved on in a sort of grudging excitement. All of them had their wands at the ready in a bout of paranoia, and only Hermione took the time to eye the other tombstones, reading some of them out loud, even though Ron said he couldn't care less if a family of five died in a freak piano accident.

"Harry, are you sure this is the right graveyard?" Tonks asked softly. "I mean, it's not like you stopped for directions last time…" She cleared her throat. "And there are quite a lot of graveyards in England."

"Riddle wouldn't be buried anywhere else," Harry said confidently. "I can _feel_ this is it."

"Even though it was dark, you were losing blood, and your life was being threatened the last time you were here," muttered Ron under his breath.

Neville choked on his laughter.

"Oh, look!" Hermione exclaimed. "Is that it?"

"Does that look like a gargoyle to you, Hermione?" Ron demanded. "It's a—it's a—"

"Fairy," supplied Harry.

Hermione blushed. "Sorry. It is enormous for a tombstone," she muttered.

Aside from the occasion of Tonks walking right into an open grave waiting for its client, the entire mission hadn't been very exciting.

"This place is large," Ron said testily. "It must be for the entire bloody county or something." He suddenly stepped backwards, leaning over to touch his back as though he had been stung. "Bloody hell, Harry."

Harry frowned. "What? I didn't do anything."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?" she asked.

Ron scowled. "Nothing… my back just gave out." He broke into a quicker pace. "C'mon, I'm getting sick of this place."

Neville, who had been wandering off on his own, gave a yell of delight. Moving a rather stubborn ivy that was growing all over the place, he pointed to the tombstone. A hideous-looking gargoyle was perching on it, fangs bared, and it wasn't hard to read the inscription.

"Good find, Neville!" Tonks congratulated. "Er, now what?"

"In the cave, the wall was actually a door," Harry explained. "This tombstone is large enough for us to fit through."

The group exchanged incredulous glances.

"Well," said Hermione, carefully, "It _is_ possible. You needed to give it a bit of blood, didn't you? That, er, gargoyle looks quite… blood-thirsty." She paled.

"I'll do it," Tonks offered. "Not like I haven't lost a bit of blood before."

"Wait," Harry said suddenly.

Tonks froze on the spot. "What is it?" she asked.

There was a low piercing noise, like a single note being played. Then a phoenix feather appeared before Harry's feet, alongside a small rolled up parchment.

"Oh," gasped Hermione.

Harry did not mistake the familiar scrawl. "_Leave now_," he read out.

"That's Regulus's handwriting!" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, something must have happened."

"Hermione's right," Tonks said sternly. "If Regulus used Fawkes to send this it must be something very serious. We shouldn't stay here. Let's go back to the entrance and call for the Knight Bus. Yes, that's the best way to get us all back, since half of you don't have your Apparating licenses."

"No, we can't go _now_," Harry snapped. "Let's just test this thing."

"Harry," Ron said.

"_No_," Harry said firmly. "We might not get a chance back."

He reached for his wand, muttered a spell, and a single scratch appeared across his palm, leaking blood.

And then the Death Eaters appeared.

-!-

**Final notes:** In future chapters: good guys vs. bad guys, a Horcrux, Hodur, and England wins the World Cup… wait, no…..


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